















































































































































































































































































































































































































t 








ADDRESSES 



CHARLES ELLIOTT MITCHELL 







AC 8 

./Iji-t 


PREFACE 


The addresses of Charles Elliott Mitchell, given in this 
volume, are privately published by his wife and children—as 
a loving tribute to his revered memory. 

























CONTENTS 


V 

ro 

\ 

V- 

l 

t\i 

(S- 








Preface, ....... 

Introductory, ...... 

Birth and Growth of the American Patent System, 

Lincoln and Emancipation, 

John Marshall, 

Oliver Ellsworth, 

“Mr. Speaker!” . 

Memorial Day Address, 

Fitz-Green Halleck, 

Some Reasons for Bible Study, 

How Can We Awaken Among Our Church Members a 
Keener Sense of Their Duties as Citizens? 

What Is Poetry? 

Colloquy, 

The Fisher, 

Henrv Ward Beecher, . 

Spring, 

A Prayer, 


2 

5 

9 

21 

36 

50 

58 

80 

86 

108 

116 

124 

137 

171 

175 

176 

177 




















CHARLES ELLIOTT MITCHELL 


The truth of Browning’s great affirmation, “No work begun 
shall ever cease because of death”, is exemplified in the enduring 
quality of the life-work of Charles Elliott Mitchell. 

Born in Bristol, Connecticut, May nth, 1837, of ancestry 
prominent in the history of the State, Mr. Mitchell early dis¬ 
played those traits of character which were destined to win for 
him distinction. His father, George H. Mitchell, was a descend¬ 
ant of William Mitchell, a soldier of the Revolutionary War, 
while his mother, Lurene Hooker, a woman of unusual refine¬ 
ment and culture, was a direct descendant of the Rev. Thomas 
Hooker, the founder of the Connecticut colony. 

Many of the sterling qualities of this distinguished ancestor 
characterized Charles Elliott Mitchell, who was remarkable, even 
in boyhood, for his earnestness of purpose and diligence in study. 

After concluding his preparatory studies at Williston 
Seminary, he entered Brown University, and was graduated 
from that institution in 1861. In 1864 he finished with honor 
his course at the Albany Law School, was admitted to the bar, 

V 

and began the practice of his profession at New Britain, Conn. 

Mr. Mitchell was married, in 1866, to Cornelia A. 
Chamberlain, of New Britain, Conn., the sister of Judge 
Valentine B. Chamberlain and Governor Abiram Chamberlain. 

The home life of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell was ideally beautiful, 
and an inspiration to all who enjoyed their gracious hospitality. 
Their three sons, Robert Chamberlain, Charles Hooker and 
George Henry, all adopted their father’s profession. 

Mr. Mitchell began his professional career as a general 
practitioner, but gradually came to specialize in the law of 
patents, in which branch he attained such prominence that, 
in 1889, President Harrison appointed him Commissioner of 
Patents for the United States, the Patent Bar having united in 
recommending him for that office. 


5 


During his administration he inaugurated many note¬ 
worthy reforms and materially increased the efficiency of the 
Patent Bureau. His judicial decisions, as Commissioner, gave 
a much needed stability to the practice of the Patent Office and 
established many important precedents that have ever since been 
followed. 

In 1891, owing to demands made upon him by former clients, 
Mr. Mitchell resigned his federal office and removed to New 
York City, where he resumed the practice of his profession. 
Here, his advice as an eminent patent counsel was constantly 
sought by leading attorneys, manufacturers and inventors, and 
he appeared in many causes involving patents for fundamental 
inventions that have marked epochs in the industrial advance of 
the world. 

In 1902 he retired from the active practice of his profes¬ 
sion and /returned to his old home at New Britain, where, 
until his death in 1911, he was president and legal adviser of 
the Stanley Rule & Level Co. 

Mr. Mitchell was broad in his interests and achieved 
prominence along many lines. 

Twice, in his earlier life, he was elected to the state legis¬ 
lature, where he was prominently connected with the re¬ 
drafting of the Connecticut Corporation Laws. 

Every endeavor to better the moral and civic life of the 
community had his heartiest support. He was among the 
leaders in founding the New Britain Young Men’s Christian 
Association and served for several terms as its president. 

Mr. Mitchell was deeply interested in the religious life of 
the community. In his home church and in the Broadway 
Tabernacle he took the initiative in planning and executing 
measures to promote their efficiency and spirituality. Dr. 
Jefferson, pastor of the Broadway Tabernacle church, said of 
him. He could always be counted on when money was to 
be given, or encouragement was needed or work was to be 
done.” 

The singular beauty, purity and strength of Mr. Mitchell’s 
personal life gave significance to all that he undertook. Nature 
had for him an irresistible call, and his rich gifts of imagination 
and sparkling humor often found expression in graceful verse. 


6 


To the very end of his long life Mr. Mitchell was an in¬ 
spiration to others,—imparting to them his own high standard 
of thought and action. His death, which occurred suddenly 
March 17th, 1911, at his home, marked the earthly close of a 
life conspicuous for useful achievement, noble manhood and 
Christian character. 

“He served his own generation, by the will of God, and 
fell on sleep/’ 



Pastor First Church of Christ, 


New Britain, Conn. 









Birth and Growth of the American 
Patent System 


The Centennial of the Patent Office, or the beginning of the second 
century of the American Patent System, was celebrated by a Congress 
of Inventors and Manufacturers of Inventions held at Washington, D. C., 
April 8th to 10th, 1891. 

This celebration was referred to by the papers of that day as one of 
rare and absorbing interest, remarkable not only for the eloquence with 
which its speakers traced the proud record of American Inventions, but 
for the admirable manner in which it was managed throughout. 

Mr. Mitchell was at this time Commissioner of Patents and on him 
devolved the entire burden of its organization and management, as well 
as the delivery of the principal address. 

The patent system had its birth in a statute against monopo¬ 
lies, enacted by a British parliament to restrain the British throne. 
From the earliest times the right to grant exclusive privileges 
had been asserted as a royal prerogative. Sometimes the power 
had been exercised beneficently; with vastly more frequency it 
was employed to bring in revenue to the royal coffers. More and 
more, as the sovereign struggled to govern without the aid of 
parliament, the power was abused and perverted until, in the 
days of Elizabeth, monopolies extending to the most ordinary 
articles of commerce and consumption were conferred upon 
favorites of the Court. In aid of these illegal monopolies arbi¬ 
trary powers of search were granted, and heavy penalties were 
inflicted upon English merchants for engaging in occupations 
which had been of common right for centuries. 

Such tyranny could not long remain unchecked, and, in the 
year 1623, the famous statute of James was enacted, destroying 
all illegal monopolies by a single stroke, and declaring that in 
future all patents should be to inventors of new manufactures, 
and to them only for a limited time. It is to this statute that 
legal writers ascribe the origin of the modern patent system. 

It is true that the Statute of James was declaratory of the 
common law, as it was understood by the judges; it is true that 
after its enactment the king’s pleasure was still, in theory, the 


9 


source whence the grant proceeded; it is true that subsequent 
monarchs chafed under its restrictions, and at times even 
trampled them under foot; but, nevertheless, in a large way and 
in a very vital sense, the patent system had its birth in the 
remedial statute of 1623. In an hour of moral and political exalta¬ 
tion England had declared that odious monopolies should cease, 
and that patents for inventions should be granted,—a declaration 
that has been law to the present hour; and it should never be 
forgotten by the friends of industrial progress that the same 
great statute which restored the freedom of established industries 
to monopoly-ridden England, created also the modern patent 
system and placed it upon an enduring basis in justice and public 
policy. 

But, although the patent system is ascribed to the statute of 
1623, its administration was long pervaded by a spirit hostile 
to inventors. The benefactor of the public had to crawl before 
the king as a suppliant for favor. If his cringing was successful 
his patent was granted, but he was dismissed with the poor 
privilege of proving the novelty of his invention as best he could. 
The patent was not even prima facie evidence that the patentee 
had made an invention. When it came into court it was con¬ 
strued in a technical spirit,—a spirit which assumed everything 
in favor of the crown and nothing in favor of the subject,—and 
it is hardly too much to say that some of the earlier decisions in 
patent causes betray a temper that would have better befitted a 
permit to sell gunpowder in the streets of London. 

It is Coryton, the law-writer, who tells us that to the patentee 
alone “No margin was conceded for possible error. An unapt 
title to his invention, an ill-judged word in his description, an 
incautious experiment, the least disclosure of his secret before 
letters were sealed, and his privileges were at an end.” 

In view of this judicial hostility, which robbed the law of 
its beneficence and transformed the statute into an ambuscade, it 
is no wonder that for one hundred and fifty years after its enact¬ 
ment scarcely more than one thousand patents were granted. It 
could make but little difference whether patents were denied, or, 
having been granted, were denied protection. 

Somewhat later a more enlightened sentiment developed. 
Watt had harnessed machinery to steam and Arkwright had har¬ 
nessed spinning to machinery. The patent to Watt, granted in 
1 7 & 9 , had been extended by an act of Parliament in 1775 and 


10 


had run unscathed the gauntlet of the judges. Patents were 
granted with increasing frequency, and the useful arts received 
a mighty impetus. Powerful infringers sought to trample upon 
the rights of patentees, and law-suits followed that were fierce 
as battlefields. Judges began to regard inventors not as mere 
recipients of royal favor, but as public benefactors worthy of the 
world’s great prizes. Then came those days, memorable in 
judicial annals, when jurists who were in touch with human 
progress discussed anew the relationship of the inventor to the 
public, and, as if they had fore-gleams of the new industrial era, 
laid down those broader and more generous principles which 
have become the foundation and framework of the patent law. 

The Statute of James followed the Mayflower across the 
ocean. In the year 1641 the General Court of Massachusetts 
Bay granted a patent to Samuel Winslow for a method of making 
salt, and prohibited others “From making this article except in 
a manner different from his.” In 1646 a patent was granted to 
Joseph Jenks for “An engine for the more speedy cutting of 
grass,” the invention substituting for the short and clumsy 
English scythe a long slender blade supported by a rib along its 
back, a construction easily recognized as that of the modern 
scythe. The invention seems also to have extended to machinery 
for scythe-making. 

The name of Joseph Jenks—how inconsiderable the place 
which it occupies in colonial history! The antiquarian stumbles 
upon it and makes a memorandum in his note-book, while the 
student of events that thrill and startle passes it without a thought 
or utterance. Nevertheless, a deep human interest invests it, and 
more and more it shall attract attention. Nor do we honor him 
the less because the mowing machine and the reaper have eclipsed 
in brilliancy his humble achievement, as there in the early wilder¬ 
ness he appeals to the General Court for protection, so that, as 
he quaintly says, “His study and cost may not be in vayne or lost.” 

The colony of Connecticut was far-sighted and liberal in 
encouraging inventors. Between 1663 and 1785 many acts were 
passed granting exclusive privileges in inventions relating to 
nearly all branches of industry practiced in the colony. Indeed, 
Connecticut passed a general law, which appeared in the revision 
of 1672, declaring that “There shall be no monopoly granted or 
allowed amongst us of but such inventions as shall be adjudged 
profitable to the country, and for such time as the General Court 


shall deem meet.” This statute, by implication, held out induce¬ 
ments to inventors, and it is reasonable to associate with its 
enactment, a hundred years before the Revolutionary War, the 
fact that the people of Connecticut have taken out more patents 
per capita from year to year, down to the present time, than 
those of any other State. 

In 1785 Maryland granted protection to Tames Rumsey for 
making and selling “New invented boots” on a model made by 
him; also, in 1787, to Oliver Evans for making and selling “Two 
machines for the use of merchant mills,” and “One other machine, 
denominated a steam carriage;” the right of recovery against in¬ 
fringers being upon condition that the grantee should not “Be 
proven not to be the original inventor.’’ It will be noticed that 
this proviso reversed the burden of proof, as it stood under the 
English law, making the grant evidence of novelty unless the 
contrary should be shown as matter of defense. 

In 1787 New York granted to John Fitch “The sole right 
and advantage of making and employing for a limited time the 
steamboat by him lately invented." During the next year New 
-JFersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware granted to the same John 
Fitch the exclusive privilege “To navigate their waters with 
vessels propelled by steam.” 

I have thus alluded to some of the patents granted before 
the adoption of the Federal Constitution, because they show how 
deep-seated was the understanding, wherever the law of England 
had been inherited, that it was a just and beneficent exercise of 
the power of governments to protect inventions by patents for 
limited periods. I have done so, too, because the spectacle of 
John Fitch and James Rumsey and Oliver Evans applying to the 
several States for the limited protection which they could furnish 
will prepare us to expect that the Constitutional Convention will 
not overlook the subject in the midst of its important duties. We 
shall also expect to find that, when a patent system common to 
all the States has been developed, it will follow in the line of 
American precedent, and to a corresponding extent depart from 
the English system, by causing an examination before the patent 
is granted, in analogy to the legislative methods practiced by the 
Colonial and State assemblies. 

The Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia had been in 
session nearly three months before its attention was directed to 
patents and copyrights. On the 16th of August, 1787, Madison 


12 


submitted for the consideration of the Committee on Detail two 
propositions for powers to be exercised by Congress, one of them, 
“To secure to literary authors their copyrights for a limited 
time;” the other, “To encourage by premiums and provisions the 
advancement of useful knowledge and discoveries.” On the same 
day similar provisions were submitted by Charles Pinckney, one 
of them “To grant patents for useful inventions,” another, “To 
secure to authors exclusive rights for a certain time.” On the 
31st of August such propositions as had not been acted upon 
were referred to a Committee composed of one member from 
each State, and on the 5th of September this committee recom¬ 
mended that Congress have the power “To promote the progress 
of science and the useful arts by securing for limited times to 
authors and inventors the exclusive rights to their respective 
writings and discoveries.” In the final revision this clause be¬ 
came paragraph 8 of section 8 of article 1 of the Federal Con¬ 
stitution. 

Wise and far-sighted as were those framers of the Consti¬ 
tution, they could have had no adequate conception of the im¬ 
portance of what they did, when, just before the curtain fell upon 
their labors, they decreed that the exclusive rights of inventors 
should be secured. They thought they were applying finishing 
strokes and touches to an edifice which was otherwise complete, 
when they were really at work upon its broad foundations. For 
who is bold enough to say that the Constitution could have over¬ 
spread a continent if the growth of invention and of inventive 
achievement had not kept pace with territorial expansion. It is 
invention which has brought the Pacific Ocean to the Alleghanies. 
It is invention which, fostered by a single sentence of their im¬ 
mortal work, has made it possible for the flag of one republic to 
carry more than forty symbolic stars. 

On the 23d of June, soon after the first Congress assembled 
in New York, Benjamin Huntington, of Connecticut, reported a 
bill to carry into effect the constitutional powers for promoting 
the progress of science and the useful arts. In this bill, for the 
first time in history, appeared the idea of a general law providing 
affirmatively for the granting of letters patent. For some reason 
which does not appear, its consideration was postponed until the 
next session. On the 4th day of January, 1790, Congress having 
again assembled, a committee was appointed to report upon un¬ 
finished business brought over from the previous session. Before 


13 


this committee could report, President Washington, clad in a 
broadcloth suit made by Col. Jeremiah Wadsworth, of Hartford, 
addressed for the first time the assembled Houses of Congress. 
In the course of that address he said: “I cannot forbear intimat¬ 
ing to you the expediency of giving effectual encouragement, as 
well to the introduction of new and useful inventions from abroad 
as to the exertions of skill and genius at home.'’ Three days 
later the committee which had been appointed made a report, in 
which they said: “It also appears that there was postponed for 
further consideration until this session a bill to promote science 
and the useful arts.” This bill was thereupon referred to a com¬ 
mittee consisting of Edward Burke, of South Carolina; Benjamin 
Huntington, of Connecticut, and Lambert Cadwallader, of New 
Jersey, who made a report on the 16th day of February, 1790. 
The bill thus reported, after discussion and amendment was duly 
passed, and on April 10 received the signature of the President, 
thus becoming the celebrated statute of 1790, whose enactment 
this audience, unprecedented in its character in all history, now 
joyfully celebrates. 

The statute of 1790 was brief and simple. The applicant 
was required to describe his invention, but no claim or oath was 
called for. No discrimination was made between citizen and 
alien. A drawing was to be furnished and, in certain cases, a 
model also. In two respects the statute embodied a radical de¬ 
parture from English methods. It required an examination, and 
it made the patent prima facie evidence that the invention was 
truly described and the patentee the first inventor. The Secre¬ 
tary of State, the Secretary of War and the Attorney-General 
were to determine in each case whether a patent should be 
granted. From April to July they awaited a successful applicant. 
He comes at last, and three Cabinet officers—Jefferson, Knox and 
Randolph— sitting in solemn dignity, determine that Samuel 
Hopkins is entitled to a patent for his new method of making 
pot and pearl ashes. 

Does any one say that the office then discharged was un¬ 
worthy of such a tribunal? Let him then remember that that 
patent of July 31, 1790, was the first of four hundred and fifty 
thousand patents. Let him ask himself what adequate reason 
exists for the wizard-like transformations of a century, excepting 
the stimulus afforded by patent legislation. Let him compare the 
saddle and the pillion with the parlor car, the tallow-dip with 


14 


the electric light, the post-boy with the lightning mail, the tele¬ 
graph and the telephone. Let him make a corresponding com¬ 
parison in every department of life, along every line of develop¬ 
ment, and he will see in the granting of that first patent to Samuel 
Hopkins an act of historic grandeur. 

Fifty-seven patents in all were granted under the Statute of 
1790, one of them being to our old friend John Fitch, whom we 
have met in the State assemblies. On October 24, 1791, we find 
James Rumsey presenting a petition to Congress that the act of 
1790 might be amended and rendered more effective. A year 
later, November 7, 1792, he presented another petition, this time 
praying for the revision of the act. 

It is a fact familiar to many that a new act was passed on 
the 21 st of February, 1793; but it is not so commonly known that 
Mr. Williamson, of North Carolina, chairman of the committee 
having the measure in charge, in advocating the principles of the 
bill said that it was an imitation of the patent system of Great 
Britain, and that its provisions were such as would circumscribe 
the duties of the presiding officer within very narrow limits. The 
patent was still to be accepted as prima facie evidence of its 
validity, but an oath was required to the application, the fees 
were increased to thirty dollars, aliens were cut off from receiv¬ 
ing patents, provision was made for determining the rights of 
competing applicants by arbitration, the assignability of inven¬ 
tions was recognized and provided for, and the duty of granting 
patents was conferred upon the Secretary of State alone. 

It would give me pleasure to speak with some detail of the 
history of the patent office between 1793 and 1836. But the 
patent system, and not the patent office, is my subject, and I must 
pass on to consider the great act of 1836, remarking, meanwhile, 
that in 1800 the right of obtaining patents was partially restored 
to foreigners, and in 1819 power was conferred upon the circuit 
courts to prevent the violation of the rights of authors and 
inventors by granting injunctions according to the principles and 
practice of courts of equity. 

The act of 1836 created an epoch. An eminent statesman 
has pronounced it the most important event from the Constitu¬ 
tion to the Civil War. Less than 10,000 patents preceded it; more 
than 450,000 have followed in its train. Under it the Patent Office 
was established; under it the first Commissioner of Patents was 


15 


appointed; and hardly had the approving signature of Andrew 
Jackson been affixed before the walls of yonder Doric Temple, 
already completed in design, began to rise. 

The most important change brought about by the act of 
1836 was the restoration of the examination system and the 
establishment of an examining corps of experts. The English 
system, developed on executive lines, relegated all investigation 
to the courts; the American plan, developed on legislative lines, 
made the investigation precede the grant. The law of 179° f°l" 
lowed the American trend developed in the colonies, and Jeffer¬ 
son and his associates formed an examining board. Then came 
the act of 1793, which avowedly imitated the English system, 
and permitted a patent to be issued to any one who should allege 
that he had made an invention and should make oath that he 
believed himself to be the true inventor. Its workings are de¬ 
scribed in 1837 by Henry L. Ellsworth, the first Commissioner 
under the new act. “The Patent Office,” said he, “Only examined 
names and dates, and granted all applications presented in proper 
form.” Of course duplicates and triplicates were issued for the 
same invention; the rights of parties were referred to legal 
tribunals, and in the meantime spurious claims were selling 
throughout the United States. 

The act of 1836 restored the American system. The Patent 
Office was vested with quasi-judicial as well as with executive 
functions, the patent being adjudicated upon in advance, and 
possessing, as soon as it was granted, the attributes of a patent 
which, under the old system, had been tested by expensive litiga¬ 
tion. The importance to inventors of the system of preliminary 
examination has been declared to be inestimable. It places at 
the service of the humblest inventors the services of trained ex¬ 
perts in law and mechanics. It makes the patent something more 
than an assertion of right, something more than a challenge to 
the world to show that the patentee was not the true inventor. 
It bears testimony that it has been compared with prior patents 
and publications, domestic and foreign, and with all that has been 
done in the United States, so far as known, and that the device 
or process claimed is what it professes to be—a new departure 
in the arts. Thus the patent acquires an immediate commercial 
value—a value which is enhanced just in proportion as means 
are supplied by the government for making an inquiry as com¬ 
plete and exhaustive as it is in human power to make it. 


16 


Another important feature of the act of 1836 was the dis¬ 
tinction drawn between the description of the invention and the 
claim. It would be a mistake however to ascribe the first ap¬ 
pearance of the claim to the act of 1836. Its history shows that 
it was evolved in practice before it emerged in law. The first 
American patent which contained anything like a claim, so far as 
the restored records of the Patent Office indicate, was that of 
Isaiah Jennings, November 20, 1807, for manufacturing thimbles 
for sails of ships. In the Franklin Journal for 1828 appears an 
article prepared by Dr. Jones, then Superintendent of the Patent 
Office, which contains the suggestion that, although it is perfectly 
proper to describe an entire machine, “After doing this, the ap¬ 
plicant should distinctly set forth what he claims as new, and this 
is best done in a paragraph at the end of the specification.” 

The requirement of a claim added greatly to the value of 
patents. It set definite walls and fences about the rights of the 
patentee, which were not the less effective because they were 
incorporeal. A fruitful source of contention was done away 
with, and the chances of being obliged to resort to the courts of 
law were lessened. 

Time will not allow me to dwell upon the other changes 
wrought by the act of 1836, but I must introduce its author and 
champion, that “Unaccredited hero,” John Ruggles, Senator from 
Maine. Elected to the Senate in 1835, he signalized the be¬ 
ginning of his senatorial career by his conspicuous service as 
chairman of the committee in charge of the new measure, which 
he seems to have largely originated as well as championed. He 
received substantial aid from Henry L. Ellsworth—afterward 
the first Commissioner of Patents,—and, if tradition is to be 
relied upon, from Charles M. Keller, afterward a renowned 
advocate in patent causes. 

Subsequent laws, passed in 1837 and 1839, provided that 
where the patentee had made his claims too broad, through inad¬ 
vertence, accident or mistake, he might file a disclaimer of the 
excess of claim, to become in effect a part of the original specifi¬ 
cation. These laws also prevented the forfeiture of the right to 
a patent by any use or sale of the newly-invented article prior to 
application, unless such prior use or sale covered a period of 
more than two years. The latter provision gave the inventor an 
opportunity to test or actually use his invention for a sufficient 
period to demonstrate its practicability and usefulness before 

U 


applying for a patent. In 1842 the patenting of ornamental de¬ 
signs was authorized. In 1861 the term of a patent was extended 
from fourteen years to seventeen, and the right to obtain an ex¬ 
tension, which had been conferred by an act of 1838, was 
abolished. In 1870 the patent law was revised, but the revision 
was in the nature of a consolidation of the Statutes then in force. 
When the laws of the United States were generally revised in 
1875 the act of 1870 was re-enacted without substantial change. 

All the statutes since the law of 1836 have been in substan¬ 
tial accord with the policy inaugurated by that act, and have had 
for their object the carrying of that policy into effect, with such 
modifications as experience has shown to be necessary. In 1790 
three patents were granted; in 1890 the number was twenty-six 
thousand two hundred and ninety-two. In 1790 the receipts were 
about $15; in 1890 they were $1,340,372.60, an excess over all 
expenses of $241,094.72. In 1790 the work required only the 
infrequent services of a single clerk; in 1890 the number of em¬ 
ployees, including the examining, clerical and laboring force, was 
five hundred and ninety men and women. 

In order to distribute and dispatch the work the office is 
divided into thirty examining divisions, and inventions are divided 
—according to subject-matter—into two hundred classes, and four 
thousand two hundred and ninety-five sub-classes. All applica¬ 
tions as they are received are assigned to the assistant who has 
in charge the proper sub-class of invention. It is only by careful 
classification and division of labor that it is possible to conduct 
successfully the enormous amount of work which now, at the 
close of the century, devolves upon the Patent Office. 

The growth of the patent system has been brought about by 
the friendly laws which I have mentioned exercising their influ¬ 
ence for the most part in four different channels: 

First: The patent system has stimulated inventive thought. 
Benjamin Franklin, a man of science, stood by the side of the 
old hand-lever printing press for a generation, and left it where 
it was left three centuries before by Guttenberg. It remained 
for Hoe and other inventors, who worked under the stimulus 
of the patent laws and patented their inventions, to produce that 
marvelous machine for disseminating knowledge that has made 
the world a university. A century ago the apprentice learned 
the skill and secrets of his craft and jogged along, contented 
with his acquirements. To-day no ambitious workman expects 


18 


to leave his craft or calling without lifting it to a higher plane 
and providing it with better instrumentalities. A new power of 
achievement has come into human thinking. Men of all callings 
seem to have acquired the inventive faculty, and no explanation 
of the change is plausible which ignores the stimulating influence 
of a century of patent law. 

Second: The patent system has stimulated men to trans¬ 
form their thinking into things. It is a long and toilsome road 
from the first fugitive suggestion, through failure and discour¬ 
agement and temporary defeat, to an invention in a form per¬ 
fected. If men were not induced by the rewards of a patent 
system to cling to their new ideas through all the vicissitudes of 
an inventor’s experience, their hands would drop in discourage¬ 
ment. The story of the lost arts has never been fully told, even 
by Wendell Phillips, and decades and centuries of possible 
progress have been wrapped up in inventions which have dawned 
upon human consciousness only to disappear and be forgotten. 

Third: The patent system encourages men to disclose their 
inventions. The duty of man to disclose his discoveries is one 
which, if it exists at all, has never been recognized; but for a 
hundred years men have gladly shared with the public their 
newly acquired ideas because of the invitation and rewards con¬ 
tained in the patent system. The phenomenon of re-discovery is 
now a very rare experience. 

Fourth: The patent system enables inventors to make their 
efforts fruitful, and saves them from the folly of misdirected 
labor. The Official Gazette of the Patent Office publishes to the 
world the claims and one or more drawings of each patent. Each 
number of the Gazette may be likened to a series of maps, ex¬ 
hibiting that borderland adjacent to the illimitable unknown upon 
which the sun of human invention has shed its radiance during 
a single week. Inventors need not and do not, as formerly, delve 
in exhausted mines. 

It is a gratifying feature of this centennial era that the 
patent system is now at peace with all the world. Voices are 
heard in favor of amendatory statutes, opinions differ as to 
methods of administration, but no audible utterance, the wide- 
world over, challenges the policy of patent laws. In 1868, Count 
Bismarck in Germany and Lord Stanley in England declared, the 
former that patent laws should be abolished, the latter, that he 
was ready to vote against them. But the Centennial Exposition 


19 


at Philadelphia,—that second declaration of independence,— 
startled the world with its splendid demonstration of the results 
of a liberal policy toward inventors. Sir William Thompson, 
in reporting upon the Centennial Exposition, said: “If England 
does not amend its patent laws America will speedily become the 
nursery of useful inventions for the world.” Mr. Hulse, the 
English judge of textiles at the Exposition, in reporting to Par¬ 
liament, said: “The extraordinary extent of ingenuity and in¬ 
vention existing in the United States, and manifested throughout 
the Exposition, I attribute to the natural aptitude of the people, 
fostered and stimulated by an admirable patent law system.” 
Similar reports were made by the representatives of other na¬ 
tions. The effect of these reports was speedily manifest. Eng¬ 
land, which had been discussing seriously whether or not the 
patent system should be abolished, passed a new act in 1883 upon 
a more liberal and popular basis. Germany revised its law in 
1877, and in a further and more radical revision, to take effect 
in October, 1891, European traditions have been largely disre¬ 
garded, and to a considerable extent the American system has 
been imitated; Switzerland, long cited as a state prospering with¬ 
out a patent system, in 1887 threw aside all its ancient traditions 
and enacted a wise and generous patent law. It is true that in 
our country congressional indifference has thwarted every for¬ 
ward movement in recent years, but nowhere in the popular mind 
does there seem to be a spirit hostile to the inventor’s recompense. 
The demonstrations everywhere of the usefulness and import¬ 
ance of patent laws have been so overwhelming, and upon such 
a conspicuous scale, that upon no other subject relating to the 
internal policy of nations is there such profound repose. 

Let us hope that the United States, whose place in the van¬ 
guard of progress is so largely due to its great inventors, may 
not now, through indifference to its patent system, fall back in 
the procession of the nations. Let us hope that an aroused 
public sentiment, set in motion by this celebration of the achieve¬ 
ments of a century, may demand for the patent system, and for 
the office which administers its functions, just recognition of its 
mighty influence, and of its rights and needs as it enters upon 
the second century of its usefulness. 


20 


LINCOLN AND EMANCIPATION 


The act which lifts the name of Abraham Lincoln nearest 
to the stars is his great Emancipation Proclamation. By the ma¬ 
jority of mankind this act is looked upon as his crowning title 
to the world’s remembrance. The Emancipation Proclamation 
was promulgated January i, 1863. For nearly two years the 
Civil War had dragged its slow length along. Beginning with 
the fall of Sumter, it had been in the east disastrous and dis¬ 
couraging to the national forces. The fortunes of war had 
seemed to move in a curious circle, for the battle of Bull Run in 
1862 repeated a disaster, which, occurring in the same place and 
bearing the same name, had overtaken the Union forces in the 
summer of the previous year. The splendidly equipped army of 
McClellan had been driven back from within sight of the steeples 
of Richmond. Its ragged remnant had been called back to the 
defense of Washington. As if by magic the theater of war in 
the east had shifted, and in the summer of 1862, the armies of 
Lee and Jackson were threatening the national capital at its very 
gates. With little doubt, the summer of 1862 saw the Union 
cause at the lowest ebb of its adverse fortunes. The war had 
not yet produced a general with a recognized genius for fighting. 
Although Grant had attracted attention at Fort Donelson and 
elsewhere, no leader had yet appeared whose achievements indi¬ 
cated a providential calling to the work of suppressing the re¬ 
bellion. Confusion reigned within the Union lines along the 
Potomac. Cabinet councils were discordant. Generals were 
jealous of each other. Halleck was at his wits end. The clerks 
in the departments in Washington were called to arms. Pope, 
who had fought the second battle of Bull Run, had proved a 
terrible disappointment. McClellan was distrusted and by some 
suspected. Burnside distrusted himself, a fatal defect. The 
affairs of the nation had reached a crisis. Despite successes in 
the west, gloom overspread the country. Disaster after disaster 
had sobered the North, and the illusions with which so many of 
the Northern soldiers had marched merrily to the front had been 
dispelled forever. 


21 


Lincoln looked upon slavery in the states as protected by 
the federal constitution. As president he had sworn to defend 
the constitution of the United States. To that oath he had been 
faithful from first to last, but more and more his mind was 
dwelling upon the aspect which slavery presented as a military 
menace to the Union forces. Why, if in defending the Union 
he meant real warfare, should he permit the bravery of the 
rebels on the battlefield to be doubled in efficiency by the labors 
of the bondmen in the cotton field? Why, if he was in deadly 
earnest, should he refrain from hitting the rebellion in a vital 
spot? So reasoned the illustrious leader, and on July 13, 1862, 
he told two members of his cabinet that he was thinking of pro¬ 
claiming freedom as an exercise of the war power of the consti¬ 
tution. Afterwards, on July 22, he brought the matter up in a 
cabinet meeting. All excepting his two confidants were taken 
by surprise. He said that he had fully determined the matter 
and his purpose was fixed to issue the Proclamation; that he 
wished advice only on such matters as its form and the time of 
issuing it. The discussion resulted in a decision to await a 
favorable occasion, which would come on the heels of the next 
decisive victory. The act was accordingly postponed, but then 
and there Lincoln registered a vow in his own heart that the next 
success of the Federal forces upon the battlefield should be fol¬ 
lowed by a Proclamation of Freedom for the slaves. The battle 
of Antietam was fought on September 17, 1862. Lee was driven 
back across the Potomac and forced to abandon his bold project 
of invasion, while the hearts of all lovers of the Union were 
cheered by the tidings of a Federal victory. Lincoln kept his vow 
and issued the Emancipation Proclamation January 1, 1863. 

Other measures hostile to slavery had preceded the great 
Proclamation. Butler had attracted attention by his famous de¬ 
scription of black fugitives as contraband. Congress had passed 
an act confiscating all property, including slaves, employed in 
the rebel service; had abolished slavery in the District of Colum¬ 
bia and all the territories, and later on had enacted a second and 
more sweeping confiscation act relating to slaves and slavery. 
Fremont, in the west, and Hunter, in the east, had proclaimed 
freedom to the slaves within their respective departments. In 
both cases the orders had been over-ruled by Lincoln, because 
they were premature and unauthorized. Lincoln was waiting 
with almost divine patience for the growth of public opinion, and 


22 


with almost unexampled tact was inviting its development. But 
now the bells in the tower of time had struck. The providential 
hour had come. The president, by an act of judgment which 
the lapse of years has pronounced unerring, had divined the 
propitious moment. Henceforth, the war for the Union was to 
be a war for freedom also. Henceforth, a successful war could 
only end with a nation free as well as united, and, under God, 
united as well as free. 

A word may be opportune at this point as to the institution 
at which Lincoln struck. 

Before the Revolutionary War, slavery had no place in the 
law of England. Chief Justice Holt declared as early as 1697 
that ‘‘As soon as a negro comes into England he is free.” Just 
before the Revolutionary War, Lord Mansfield, sitting as a 
judge, declared that “Slavery took its rise in positive law, and 
consequently it was a state contrary to the law of England.” But 
England did not recognize this state of the law as applicable to 
her colonies. Although Virginia put forth efforts against the 
slave trade, these efforts had been vetoed by the King of England. 
In the original draft of the Declaration of Independence, Jeffer¬ 
son accused the King of warring against human nature, and of 
violating the most sacred rights of life and liberty by carrying 
the persons of a distant people into slavery in another hemis¬ 
phere. This passage was stricken out, to meet the wishes of South 
Carolina and Georgia, but there is no doubt that it expressed the 
views of a very large portion of those who signed the declara¬ 
tion. Indeed, Jefferson held views at that time that might have 
made him an abolitionist if he had lived in i860. Washington 
shared the views of Jefferson. Referring to the slave trade, he 
expressed the most earnest wish that an “Entire stop should be 
forever put to such a cruel, wicked and unnatural trade.” It is 
not to be concealed, however, that these opinions, though hostile 
to the slave trade, existed at the same time with practices gro¬ 
tesquely inconsistent with them. 

African slavery had come to this country in the days of the 
English colonies. It had come with the Cavalier. It had come 
with the Puritan. In the North it yielded early to the influences 
which made for its extinction. In the South it found a more 
congenial soil and climate and acquired a deeper and firmer foot¬ 
hold. Nevertheless, its position was apologetic rather than ag¬ 
gressive. It was defended by the few; by the many it was simply 


23 


tolerated. The fervor for freedom which inspired the Revolu¬ 
tionary War, favored the sentiment of hostility to slavery. Later 
on, the framers of the Constitution, although grudgingly recog¬ 
nizing the institution as an existing one, nevertheless took ex¬ 
traordinary care that neither the word “Slave” nor “Slavery” 
should pollute its provisions. It was the general expectation 
that the prohibition of the slave trade, which the Constitution 
provided for, would throttle the slavery system and cause it to 
die a natural death. The new republic started out on the high¬ 
way of the nations, the public mind resting in the thought and 
expectation that the nation would ultimately become the home 
of universal freedom. 

While the convention which framed the Constitution was 
sitting, in 1787, an ordinance was passed by the Continental Con¬ 
gress forbidding slavery in the Northwestern Territory. This ter¬ 
ritory afterward became the states of Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, 
Wisconsin and a part of Minnesota. This ordinance was the 
work of Jefferson. Afterwards, Indiana, as a territory, peti¬ 
tioned many times for the repeal of the anti-slavery article in 
the ordinance of 1787, but the appeal was made in vain. The 
indebtedness of the country to Jefferson becomes apparent when 
it is remembered that Indiana and Illinois might have become 
slave states, but for the ordinance of 1787. Into what fields of 
speculation the mind is drawn by the thought that, but for Jeffer¬ 
son's ordinance of 1787, Lincoln might have been educated in a 
slave state, and might have become a slave holder! 

It is no part of my purpose to describe the encroachments 
of the slave power. I content myself with showing that the de¬ 
flection of thought and action from freedom to slavery was a 
fundamental departure from the ideals, plans and expectations 
of the fathers of the republic. I content myself with alluding 
to the fact that the slave power, after encroachment upon en¬ 
croachment, at last, by taking the position that Congress had no 
power to prohibit slavery in the territories, imposed upon the 
nation the necessity of either yielding to demands so imperious 
and exacting as to be intolerable and impossible, or of accepting 
the alternative of civil war. 

A few words now as to the education of Lincoln for his 
great work. Everybody knows that he was born in a cabin and 
that the events of his early life were as improbable as the events 
of a fairy tale. Everybody knows that the school which he at- 


24 


tended had but one pupil, and no instructor. He was tall and 
awkward in person, homely in features. There was nothing 
about him excepting his expressive eyes that suggested intel¬ 
lectual superiority. But he early became popular, early acquired 
the confidence of his comrades, early became known as “Honest 
Abe," and something about him caused his rustic neighbors to 
detect in him the promise of future prominence. We have noth¬ 
ing to do here with Lincoln’s early life, except in so far as it 
qualified him for his career as an emancipator. He early imbibed 
a hatred for slavery. Floating to New Orleans on a flat-boat, 
he witnessed a slave auction, the sight of which impressed him 
greatly. It made a picture in his mind forever visible. Then and 
there he vowed that if he should ever have a chance he would 
“Hit slavery and hit it hard." Returning to Illinois, he became 
a captain in the Black Hawk War. His principal exploit in that 
war was saving an old Indian from his own soldiers. Later on 
he bought a Blackstone’s Commentary and studied law. He was 
drawn into politics and on a second trial was elected to the legis¬ 
lature. There he favored a protest which declared the institu¬ 
tion of slavery to be “Founded on both injustice and bad policy." 
As only one other member stood with him, this occasion called 
for moral courage. Elected to Congress in 1846, he offered a 
bill to emancipate slaves in the District of Columbia, and voted 
for the Wilmot proviso, a measure intended to exclude slavery 
from the territory acquired by the Mexican War. After a single 
term in Congress, he returned to his law practice in Illinois. 
There, while riding the circuit, he mastered geometry, training 
his mental processes to the conciseness and inevitableness of 
Euclid’s demonstrations. His mind became a storehouse of legal 
principles and he acquired the standing of a well read lawyer and 
successful advocate. 

Then came the Kansas-Nebraska bill with its repeal of the 
Missouri compromise. This was in 1854. The proposed repeal 
of the Missouri compromise disclosed to the North the teeth and 
claws of the slavery system. It became at once the paramount 
issue in national politics. It came almost unheralded and shook 
the country like an earthquake. The Republican party at once 
sprang into being. Its first campaign was in 1856, with Fremont 
as its leader. The new situation called into exercise all the facul¬ 
ties and energies of Lincoln. Lincoln was already the leading 
candidate of the Anti-Nebraska Partisans for United States 


25 


Senator. It soon appeared that as an old-line Whig he could not 
command the support of a little handful of anti-slavery Demo¬ 
crats whose votes were necessary. Lincoln’s devotion to the 
cause was greater than his personal ambition, therefore he 
urged the election of Lyman Trumbull, an anti-slavery Democrat, 
and Trumbull was made Senator by the votes of Lincoln’s friends. 

I cannot forget how greatly I was excited by the passage of 
the Kansas-Nebraska bill. The bill was gotten up and cham¬ 
pioned by Stephen A. Douglas, then popularly known as the 
“Little Giant.” The Missouri compromise of 1820 had made all 
of the Louisiana cession north of the southern line of Missouri 
forever free. The Kansas-Nebraska bill repealed this prohibi¬ 
tion. It therefore became lawful for slave holders to take their 
slaves into all free territories. I was then little more than a boy, 
but it is not too much to say that I was tremendously wrought 
up by the mighty issues at stake in the threatened contest. I 
had access to the Congressional Record, and read every speech 
in the House or Senate on the Kansas-Nebraska bill. I remem¬ 
ber to this day the very language of the passage, by which it was 
hoped to pacify the north and conceal the perfidy of the transac¬ 
tion. The passage read: “It being the intent and meaning here¬ 
of neither to legislate slavery into any territory or state, nor to 
exclude it therefrom, but to leave the people thereof perfectly 
free to form and regulate their own institutions, sub jet only to 
the Constitution of the United States.” Nothing could appear 
more fair upon its face than this language. Its perfidy becomes 
apparent only when it is kept in mind that the statesmen of the 
party in control of the nation insisted that the Constitution car¬ 
ried slavery into every territory by its own force and vigor. How 
the people of a territory could override the Constitution was not 
disclosed. The north was aroused as it never had been before 
on the question of slavery. It was apparent that the slave power 
had taken an advanced position from which it could be dislodged 
only by a tremendous effort, and many wise men shook their 
heads, declaring that war was imminent. 

I remember too, as if it were yesterday, the first speech of 
Abraham Lincoln when he entered the Senatorial contest against 
Douglas. At that time I was away from home at school. One 
day I happened into the little room where students had access 
to the newspapers. I took up the New York Evening Post. My 
eyes fell upon a short speech ascribed to one Abraham Lincoln. 


26 


I had never heard the name before but I never forgot it after¬ 
ward. As I read the speech I seemed to be carried off my feet 
and lifted into a new realm of reasoning. Said this newly dis¬ 
covered statesman of the prairies: “If we could first know where 
we are and whither we are tending, we could better judge what 
to do and how to do it. We are now far on in the fifth year since a 
policy was initiated with the avowed object and confident promise 
of putting an end to the slavery agitation. Under the operation 
of that policy, that agitation has not only not ceased but has 
constantly augmented. In my opinion it will not cease until a 
crisis has been reached and passed. ‘A house divided against 
itself cannot stand.’ I believe that this government cannot en¬ 
dure, permanently, half slave and half free. I do not expect the 
Union to be dissolved. I do not expect the house to fall. But I 
do expect that it will cease to be divided. It will become all one 
thing or all another. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest 
the further spread of it and place it where the public mind shall 
rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction, 
or its advocates will push it forward until it shall become alike 
lawful in all the states, old as well as new, north as well as south.” 

It seemed to me that I had never read anything that voiced 
so perfectly the sentiments appropriate to the hour. Not long 
before this I had bought a pamphlet copy of the Dred Scott de¬ 
cision and I had read it with an interest such as I had never felt 
in any novel. My memories of the Dred Scott decision enabled 
me to see that my new statesman of the prairies was absolutely 
right. Thereafter I watched the great Lincoln-Douglas debate 
with absorbing interest. Lincoln was ambitious to be Senator, 
but his personal ambition was subordinate to his determination 
to keep slavery from invading the free territories of the United 
States. To the efforts of Douglas to trap him by questions, he 
replied that he was pledged to no proposition excepting to the 
exclusion of slavery in all of the territories of the United States. 
Lincoln then propounded this question to Douglas: “Can the 
people of a United States territory in any lawful way, against 
the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude 
slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a 
state constitution?” The friends of Lincoln advised him not 
to ask this question. They claimed that Douglas would answer 
“Yes,” framing his answer to suit his requirements as a candi¬ 
date for Senator, without regard to its effect upon his prospects 


27 


as a candidate for the Presidency later on. Lincoln believed that 
the expected answer “Yes” might help Douglas to the Senatorship, 
but he also prophesied that it would alienate the South and make 
it impossible for Douglas to become President. He was seeking 
the triumph of his principles, not his own personal triumphs. The 
answer of Douglas made him United States Senator, as was ex¬ 
pected, and it also had the prophesied effect of alienating the 
South from Douglas as a Presidential candidate. By the defeat 
of Douglas as a candidate for the Presidency, Lincoln expected 
that the only candidate who could possibly carry the North for 
slavery in the territories would be disqualified. In this he was 
right, and Lincoln’s course attested the astuteness of his judg¬ 
ment as well as the willingness with which he surrendered his 
prospects for the sake of his principles. 

The next great landmark in Lincoln’s career as an anti¬ 
slavery man is his Cooper Union speech, delivered in New York, 
shortly before his nomination for the Presidency. After the 
Douglas debate and his own defeat, Lincoln had said: “I wished 
but did not expect a better result. I have had a hearing on a, 
great and durable question of the age, which I could have had in 
no other way, and though I now sink out of view and shall be 
forgotten, I believe I have made some remarks which will tell 
for the cause of civil liberty long after I am gone.” Noble words 
of a noble man! In the Cooper Union speech, Lincoln said: 
“Wrong as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone 
where it is because that much is due to the necessity arising from 
its presence in our nation. But can we, while our votes will pre¬ 
vent it, allow it to spread into national territories, and to overrun 
us here in the free states? If our sense of duty forbids this, 

then let us stand for our duty fearlessly and effectively. 

Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us 
to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.” It appeared 
by the great enthusiasm manifested, that Lincoln, in this Cooper 
Union speech, conquered the East as he had previously conquered 
the West. 

He now became mentioned as the probable candidate of the 
Republican party for President. The thing to be noticed in this 
passage quoted from the Cooper Union speech is Lincoln’s recog¬ 
nition of the legality of slavery in the states on the one hand, and, 
on the other hand, his invincible opposition to its spread into the 
national territories. From first to last his career is explained by 


28 



these two opinions which he entertained. First—he believed that 
the North had no legal right to attack slavery in the states, and 
second, that it was bound in duty to prevent its spread into na¬ 
tional territories, even at the expense of war. To the first opinion 
he was compelled to come as a constitutional lawyer. To the 
second he came by the constitution of his being as a life long lover 
of Liberty. 

We have seen that, in the summer and fall of 1862, Abraham 
Lincoln, though carrying on the war in good faith to preserve the 
Union, was brought to see that the Union cause required the issue 
of the Emancipation Proclamation as a war measure. In sketching 
the situation I touched upon the events that preceded that tre¬ 
mendous act. I called attention to the fact that on July 13, 1862, 
Lincoln disclosed to two of his secretaries that he was contemplat¬ 
ing an Emancipation Proclamation. On the very day before— 
July 12, 1862, he had called the representatives of the border 
states to the white house, and asked them if they would not ac¬ 
cept compensation for their slaves. He said to them: “How 
much better for you and your people to take the step which at 
once shortens the war, and secures substantial compensation for 
that which is sure to be lost in any other event.” He besought 
them to take the action sugge*sted and thereby help him save our 
form of government. The conference came to nothing. The 
representatives of the border slave states dispersed with no reply 
to Lincoln’s appeal except a chorus of objections. 

The absence of any favorable response to this appeal seems 
to have made a decided impression on Lincoln’s mind. It was 
the very next day, as I have said, that Lincoln declared he had 
about come to the conclusion that emancipation was absolutely 
essential for the welfare of the nation. “We must free the 
slaves,” he said, “Or ourselves be subdued.” Welles tells us that 
this was the first time that Lincoln had shown any tolerance for 
the views which he thus expressed. It is well worth our while 
to consider the exact language of Welles, as recorded in his diary. 

“It was a new departure for the President, for until this 
time, in all our previous interviews, whenever the question of 
emancipation or the mitigation of slavery had been in any way 
alluded to, he had been prompt and emphatic in denouncing any 
interference by the general government with the subject. This 
was, I think, the sentiment of every member of the cabinet, all of 


29 


whom, including the President, considered it a local, domestic 
question appertaining to the states respectively, who had never 
parted with their authority over it.” 

It was nine days after the disclosure of his maturing pur¬ 
pose that Lincoln read to his cabinet the Proclamation of Eman¬ 
cipation, which, he said, he proposed to issue. He declared again 
that the war was waged for the restoration of the Union, but he 
looked upon emancipation as a “Fit and necessary military 
measure for effecting this object.” The proclamation was to be 
issued January i, 1863, declaring that the slaves in the states 
wherein the authority of the Union was not recognized should be 
forever free. Blair was not ready for the proclamation, because 
he thought it would affect unfavorably the Union cause in the 
border slave states. If there was any other opposition, it was on 
the part of Seward. Seward suggested that the proclamation 
ought to be postponed until it could be given to the country sup¬ 
ported by a military success. This suggestion met Lincoln’s 
approval, and, as he tells us, he “Put the proclamation aside 
awaiting the victory.” 

Although some inklings of this conversation got into print, 
the secret as a whole was well kept. In ignorance of this fixed 
purpose of Lincoln, the anti-slavery men of the country kept on 
denouncing his policy. The New York Tribune, in its issue of 
August 20, 1862, contained an article called the “Prayer of the 
Twenty Millions,” intended to sting Lincoln to the adoption of 
more radical measures. Lincoln’s reply shows little indication 
of his already fixed resolve, but he cherished it in his heart. 
Keeping the secret of this resolve to himself he replied in the 
following language: 

“My paramount object,” he said, “Is to save the Union, and 
not either to save or destroy slavery. If I could save the Union 
without freeing any slave, I would do it. And if I could save it 
by freeing all the slaves, I would do it. And if I could save it 
by freeing some, and leaving others alone, I would also do that. 
What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I be¬ 
lieve it helps to save the Union, and what I forbear, I forbear 
because I do not believe it would help to save the Union.” Yet 
at the end he added: “I intend no modification of my oft ex¬ 
pressed personal wish that all men, everywhere, should be free.” 


30 


Lincoln was both right and wise in thus standing by the 
Union sentiment of the North. When the war broke out, the 
dissolution of the Union was unthinkable throughout the North, 
and the preservation of the Union had come to be regarded as 
the hope of freedom on the western continent. The great oration 
of Daniel Webster in reply to Hayne, delivered in 1830, had been 
an educational force whose influence was incalculable from the 
day of its delivery to the beginning of the war. The importance 
of preserving to posterity the Union established by the statesmen 
of 1787 had been so impressed upon the minds of the people of 
the North that no price, either in blood or treasure, was looked 
upon as too great to pay for it. For the growth and intensifica¬ 
tion of this sentiment throughout our civil history down to the 
beginning of the war, this nation is, undoubtedly, more indebted 
to Daniel Webster than to any other man. 

But alongside with loyalty to the Union there had been grad¬ 
ually growing up another sentiment, also destined to become 
powerful, but of a wholly dififerent character. That sentiment 
found expression in hatred of slavery. Intensified by the early 
experiences of the war, it had, by the fall of 1862, come to be 
very powerful in large sections of the country. This it was that 
called forth the “Prayer of the Twenty Millions.” 

These two sentiments, one for the Union, and the other for 
the abolition of slavery, worked together, and yet apart, to bring 
about at last the triumph of the nation. For a long time they 
had worked almost wholly at cross purposes, each opposing what 
the other favored, but the time was coming when they would 
work together. 

The following language of Lincoln explains the connection 
in his mind between his regard for the Constitution and the 
laws, and his anti-slavery sentiment. In a letter written at a 
later date he said: 

“I am naturally anti-slavery. If slavery is not wrong, noth¬ 
ing is wrong. I cannot remember the time when I did not so 
think and feel. And yet I have never understood that the Presi¬ 
dency conferred upon me an unrestricted right to act upon that 
judgment and feeling. It was in the oath I took that I would, to 
the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Consti¬ 
tution of the United States. I could not take the office without 
taking the oath. Nor was it my view that I might take an oath 
to get power, and break the oath in using that power. I under- 


31 


stood, too, that, in ordinary civil administration, this oath even 
forbade me practically to indulge my private abstract judgment 
of slavery. I did understand, however, also, that my oath im¬ 
posed upon me the duty of preserving that government, that 
nation of which the Constitution was the organic law. I could 
not feel that, to the best of my ability, I had even tried to pre¬ 
serve the Constitution if, to save slavery, or any minor matter, I 
should permit the wreck of government, country and Constitu¬ 
tion altogether.” 

Through all of the period in which Lincoln was being 
brought to see that the emancipation of slaves was a necessary 
exercise of the war power, he was advocating in one form and 
another the doctrine of compensated emancipation. But his 
efforts in that direction were unavailing. Those whom he at¬ 
tempted to befriend thereby rejected his overtures, and the 
Emancipation Proclamation was left to do its mighty work with¬ 
out recompense to them. Emancipation did not immediately fol¬ 
low, but was left to be wrought out by the exigencies of war. The 
Emancipation Proclamation did not immediately free the slaves, 
any more than the Declaration of Independence immediately 
created a nation. In both cases, however, a train of events was 
set in motion which led to the result intended. The war con¬ 
tinued. Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville spread a terrible 
cloud over the prospects of the nation. McClellan was nomi¬ 
nated for President upon a platform that declared the war to be 
a failure. But Lincoln was elected a second time in the fall of 
1864. The war was nearer over than it seemed when he referred 
to slavery, in his second inaugural address, in language which dis¬ 
played the tenderness and loftiness of his soul, and his own un¬ 
swerving devotion to the cause in which four years before he 
had enlisted all of his energies. These were the closing words 
of the inaugural address: 

“Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty 
scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet if God wills that 
it continue until all the wealth piled up by the bondmen’s two 
hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and 
until every drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid for by 
another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years 
ago, so still it must be said, ‘The judgments of the Lord are true 
and righteous altogether.’ With malice toward none, with charity 
for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the 


32 


right, let us strive to finish the work we are in, to bind up the 
nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, 
and for his widow and his orphan \ to do all which may achieve 
and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with 
all nations.” 

In preparing this article I have reached a more exalted con¬ 
ception of Lincoln as a Man, as President, as Commander-in- 
Chief and as the “Great Emancipator.” Of the members of 
his cabinet, Seward and Chase had played great parts in 
politics before the war. They were national figures long 
before the great Lincoln-Douglas debates centered the attention 
of the country upon the President that was to be. When Lin¬ 
coln was elected, he was looked upon in the east with misgivings, 
and the whole country breathed easier when he gathered so many 
great and trusted men into the company of his advisers. Through¬ 
out the war Seward and Chase and Stanton had full credit for 
what they did, and ever since the war they have occupied such 
positions in many minds, including my own, that I have failed to 
do full justice to the one man who carried the tremendous load 
of responsibility for all final decisions. His hand alone was 
directly upon the helm of state, and to no other shoulders could 
be shifted the responsibility for the conduct of the war. Es¬ 
pecially is it true that Lincoln bore the burden of the war in the 
disastrous fall of 1862. I have already described the situation, 
amounting almost to a panic, in the Capital City. In this crisis 
Lincoln reappointed McClellan to the chief command. In doing 
so he acted counter to the views of his entire cabinet. It is not 
too much to say that Chase and Stanton were furious; Chase 
declared that giving command to McClellan was equal to giving 
Washington to the rebels. Other members were less vigorous 
in their criticism, but there was practically unanimity in deplor¬ 
ing the action of the President. Stanton remarked with evident 
feeling that no order to place him in command had been issued 
by the war department. Lincoln calmly stated that the order was 
his, and that he would be responsible for it to the country. His 
manner was deliberate, but firm and decisive. Secretary Welles 
in describing the President’s demeanor said: “His language and 
manner were kind and affectionate especially toward two of the 
members who were greatly disturbed; but every person felt that 
he was truly the chief, and every one knew his decision, though 
mildly expressed, was as fixed and unalterable as if given out 


33 


with the imperious command and determined will of Andrew 
Jackson.” The great leader of the people assumed the responsi¬ 
bility of again entrusting McClellan with command, and history 
has approved his action. Although, in Lincoln’s opinion, 
McClellan had failed to exhibit any marked capacity for offensive 
warfare, he believed that his genius for organizing would be of 
great value at this particular time, and that, in a defensive cam¬ 
paign, he would be capable of meeting and beating Lee. If we 
need a measure of Lincoln’s greatness, we find it here. When all 
others were excited, he was calm. When all others knew not 
what to do, he was ready to direct the action which he believed 
to be called for by the circumstances. The wisdom of his choice 
was apparent when McClellan met Lee on the field of Antietam 
and drove him across the Potomac, making it possible for Lincoln 
to issue his Emancipation Proclamation in an hour of victory. 

In the same way Lincoln took the responsibility for issuing 
the great Proclamation. He did not ask for the opinion of his 
cabinet upon the subject. He stated to them that he had consid¬ 
ered the subject and reached a fixed determination. Singularly 
enough, Seward, the great anti-slavery leader of the period be¬ 
fore the war, seemed to be unprepared for the new policy. He 
seemed, somehow, to have joined the forces of those who 
thought that cotton was king, and to have reached the conclusion 
that the industrial world abroad would resent whatever inter¬ 
fered with its access to the supply of cotton. Stanton’s written 
memorandum declares—“Seward argues that the foreign nations 
will interfere and prevent the abolition of slavery, for the sake 
of cotton.” But it mattered not what views the members of his 
cabinet expressed. Lincoln's mind was made up. His policy 
was fixed. He had arrived at an irrevocable decision and, stand¬ 
ing alone, was ready to take the responsibility. Surely it would 
be impossible to over-estimate the moral grandeur and intel¬ 
lectual greatness of a man who, solitary and alone, became re¬ 
sponsible for the great Emancipation Proclamation. I, therefore, 
feel that I must recast my estimate of Lincoln, and recognize his 
transcendent superiority to each and all of his constitutional ad¬ 
visers. It is true that Lincoln had been slow in reaching the con¬ 
clusion to which he came. Sumner always recognized the hon¬ 
esty of Lincoln, but Lincoln was always a puzzle to him. Sumner 
insisted that the war should be prosecuted for the avowed pur¬ 
pose of securing the freedom of the slaves. Lincoln was unable 


34 


to agree with him in this, and, though at heart as truly an anti¬ 
slavery man as Sumner, waited for the hour when military neces¬ 
sity should relieve him from the obligations of his presidential 
oath. Sumner was continually urging the President to immedi¬ 
ate action. Lincoln would ward off his importunity by saying— 
“Mr. Sumner, you are only six weeks ahead of me,” and as we 
have seen, when the hour of decision was reached, Lincoln was 
as firm and determined as was ever Andrew Jackson. 

Though their numbers are lessening every day, there are 
still those who think that Lincoln should have declared liberty 
to the slaves at an earlier date. They agree with those who, 
during the early part of the war, approved the proclamations of 
Fremont and Hunter. It is an evidence of statesmanship to be 
able to discern the signs of the times. The puny proclamations 
of Fremont and Hunter were like the twittering of the birds be¬ 
fore the morning, whose notes precede the dawn indeed, but do 
not create it. Achievement in all such cases awaits the anointed 
man whose words speak power. Not the least among the titles 
of Lincoln to our remembrance and gratitude is the fact that he 
kept silence while silence was wisdom, and spoke when his voice 
was the echo of the voice of God. 

We are celebrating the anniversary of the birth of Abraham 
Lincoln. It is well that we so celebrate. The two most power¬ 
ful educational influences in our land to-day are the names of 
Washington and of Lincoln. Happy is the nation whose heroes 
are examplers of the civic and moral virtues. More and more 
shall such names as Caesar and Napoleon, synonyms of selfish¬ 
ness, shrink and shrivel and fade away; while more and more 
shall Washington and Lincoln take to their names an augmented 
splendor, shining brighter and brighter until the perfect day. 


35 


JOHN MARSHALL 


The lives of a few public men have approached the ideal of 
the perfect career. Symmetrical throughout, they seem to differ 
from the lives of other men as Nature’s fashioned crystals differ 
from her fragmentary rocks. Such men are cast in noble moulds 
and stamped with fitness for an appointed work. Their very 
natal hours are fortunate. A country and an age await them, 
while even the scenes and surroundings of their childhood are 
seen in retrospect to have been significant of their future suc¬ 
cesses. The events and experiences of their earlier and forma¬ 
tive career tend, in a definite pathway, toward a certain goal. 
That goal once reached, their lives take on new significance. 
Some mighty task or noble function devolves upon them, and, 
whether the period of its performance be long or short, it comes 
to be surely seen that it was for this purpose they came into the 
world. And how such men perform their appointed tasks! An 
element of pastime enters into their mighty but congenial labors, 
and their ripened powers perform them as easily as the great 
planets move. And, if that last felicity is not denied them, they 
live to see the dawn at least of the new era of human happiness 
and welfare which they helped to create. 

Such a career, in its every element of symmetrical and 
splendid life and action, was that of him whom men unite to call 
the “Great Chief Justice” of the United States. 

John Marshall was born on the 24th day of September, 
1755, and was therefore twenty-two years younger than 
Washington, between whom and his father a warm friendship 
existed. That father, Colonel Thomas Marshall, was, like 
Washington, a surveyor, and in early life the two friends 
were often engaged together in following their chosen profes¬ 
sion. When the Revolutionary War broke out, Col. Marshall 
entered the Continental army. His command was the third 
Virginia regiment, and he did meritorious service. The early 
advantages of Col. Marshall were slight, but his intellectual 
powers were naturally vigorous and he was a great reader of 
books. There were no schools near his plantation, and he in- 


36 


structed his own children. It was to this father that the Chief 
Justice afterwards ascribed his subsequent elevation, saying that 
to him he owed the solid foundations of his success in life. He 
was accustomed to add that his father was a far abler man than 
any of his sons. Under the tuition of his father he early acquired 
a fondness for literature, which he always afterwards retained. 
As a boy he had a special fondness for Milton, Shakespeare, 
Dryden and Pope, himself indulging in efforts at poetical compo¬ 
sition. His stock of classical lore was never extensive. Two 
years of Latin, which included portions of Horace and of Livy, 
comprised it all. It was of his English education that he after¬ 
ward wrote: “My father superintended the English part of my 
education and to his care I am indebted for anything valuable 
which I may have acquired in my youth. He was my only in¬ 
telligent companion and was both a watchful parent and an in¬ 
structive and affectionate friend.” This solicitude of the father 
for the education of the son and the impress thereby made upon 
the son’s mind, prompting the latter to recognize his father’s 
worth in terms of grateful appreciation, suggests a correspond¬ 
ing feature in the life of Horace, whose poems abound in 
reference to his father’s care and goodness in giving him the 
best education in his power. At eighteen years of age, John 
Marshall began the study of law, but the promptings of 
patriotism were too powerful; he closed his Blackstone and 
started for the war. 

Before following him into the camp, it will be profitable 
to note the effect upon his development of his surroundings out¬ 
side of his father’s house. The country was thinly populated 
and its young men were uncultivated. He was thrown upon 
himself for all the resources of growth and enjoyment. Thus 
doubtless it was, that, following the bent of his native genius, 
he developed those powers of broad-based thought and independ¬ 
ent action which characterized his career as the great Chief 
Justice. The country was wild and mountainous and could not 
fail to leave its impression upon the boy, who carried the chain 
for his father far away from the haunts of men, in the shadows 
of the great calm mountains. Naturally of reverent spirit, these 
influences contributed to the formation of that mind which 
afterward, in shaping by a creative interpretation the Constitu¬ 
tion of the United States, was never unmindful of its underlying 
element of grandeur. 


37 




But the boy Marshall, as we have seen, has closed his Black- 
stone and is off for the war. He is nineteen years of age; the 
year is 1775. His father is an ardent Whig, but the boy has not 
espoused the popular cause without investigating the grounds of 
the controversy. He has read all the political essays of the day. 
Convinced of the justice of the patriot claims, he enlists in a 
company of Virginia Minute Men. One historian states that he 
left behind his Horace as well as his Blackstone, but I prefer to 
believe that, like Gibbon and Garfield, he carried it to the camp. 
But why speak at all of Marshall’s connection with the war? 
Surely it could have had no bearing upon the life of one whose 
memorable triumphs were to be on fields of peace. Thus we 
might reason, but there could be no greater mistake. The big¬ 
headed boy must be more than a Virginian or he can never be 
the great Chief Justice. To the influence of his soldiering days 
in intensifying his devotion to the whole country for which he 
fought, he himself bears testimony. 

And so we may not fail to note that the patriotic boy fought 
bravely at Brandywine, Germantown and Monmouth, that he 
suffered at Valley Forge and followed mad Anthony Wayne at 
the storming of Stony Point. This experience was no accident, 
nor was it, humanly speaking, an episode that might have been 
omitted from the career of one who was to determine whether 
the Constitution should be the Charter of a nation or the ligature 
of a league. To the value of this part of his education in its 
bearing upon his attitude toward the Union, he himself bore 
testimony in later life. 

We return then to the narrative. War is the only alterna¬ 
tive. Rumors have come to Virginia of the affair at Lexington; 
the company in which Marshall has been chosen Lieutenant is 
assembled ten miles away from his father’s plantation. A kins¬ 
man, who was present, thus described his appearance on that 
occasion: 

“His figure I have now before me. He was about six feet 
high, straight and rather slender, of dark complexion, showing 
little if any rosy red, yet good health; the outline of the face 
nearly a circle, and within that, eyes dark to blackness, strong 
and penetrating, beaming with intelligence and good nature; an. 
upright forehead, rather low, was terminated in a horizontal line 
by a mass of raven black hair of unusual thickness and strength; 


the features of the face were in harmony with this outline, and 
the temples fully developed. The result of this combination was 
interesting and agreeable/’ 

After putting them through the manual, he addressed the 
company for something like an hour; then, after a game of 
quoits, followed by foot races and other exercises, Marshall, 
who had walked ten miles to the muster field, returned the same 
distance on foot to his father’s house, where he arrived a little 
after sunset. This was John Marshall in the freshness of his 
youth. 

Unique enough was the appearance of Marshall’s company. 
Their uniforms consisted of green hunting shirts with the words 
“Liberty or Death” in large white letters upon their bosoms. 
Their hats were set off with bucks’ tails and their belts were 
terrible with weapons. But they proposed no departure from 
the usages of war. Indeed it was afterwards said that the “Shirt 
men” treated their prisoners with great kindness. His term of 
service with the Minute Men was short, but he bore an honorable 
part in the decisive engagement that drove the royal Governor 
to his shipping and for a time released Virginia from the rav¬ 
ages of war. In July 1776 he joined the Continental army at 
Trenton, now a first lieutenant in the Eleventh Virginia. The 
battles of Trenton and of Princeton had been fought and the 
army was entering upon that gloomy period which demanded in 
full exercise the patriotic and soldierly qualities of endurance 
and fidelity. After participating as captain of his company in 
the hard fought fights of Brandywine and Germantown, he went 
with the army into the famous encampment at Valley Forge. 
Then came those memorable days that tried the metal of men 
more than the shock of battle; days of cold and hunger and 
even nakedness, whose endurance without murmur has made 
the story of Valley Forge at once the most depressing and the 
most inspiring of all the narrative of war. 

One of Marshall’s messmates, speaking of him at Valley 
Forge, says: 

“Marshall was the best tempered man I ever knew. During 
their sufferings at Valley Forge, nothing discouraged, nothing 
disturbed him; if he had only bread to eat, it was just as well; 
if only meat, it made no difference. If any of the officers mur¬ 
mured at their privations, he would shame them with good na- 
tured raillery, or encourage them with his own exuberance of. 


39 


spirits. He was an excellent companion, and idolized by the 
soldiers and his brother officers, whose gloomy hours were en¬ 
livened by his inexhaustible fund of anecdote.” 

At Valley Forge, Marshall acted as Deputy Judge Advocate, 
and thus became acquainted with Col. Hamilton, for whom he 
ever afterwards cherished an ardent friendship. Who can say 
what influence favorable to his future career was developed 
during that winter of companionship with the great Federal 
leader? “Of Hamilton,” says Judge Story, “He always spoke 
in the most unreserved manner as a soldier and statesman of 
consummate ability,—and in point of comprehensiveness of mind, 
purity of patriotism and soundness of principles, as among the 
first who had ever graced the Counsels of the Nation.” In 1780, 
the time of enlistment of Marshall’s command expired and he 
returned to Virginia, meanwhile participating in the battles of 
Monmouth and Stony Point. In Virginia he joined the force 
under Baron Steuben, serving until the invader Arnold retreated, 
when, there being a redundancy of officers in the Virginia line, 
he resigned his commission and resumed his legal studies. 

I have thus sketched the military career of Marshall, who, 
at its completion, was less than twenty-five years old, not because 
it surpassed that of others in brilliancy, but because it made it 
forever impossible for him to become a statesman of the narrow 
Virginia school. For want of such an experience, Patrick Henry, 
the ardent patriot and fervid orator of the Revolution, parted 
company with Washington and Marshall when the war was 
over, and devoted his zeal and burning eloquence to the per¬ 
petuation of monarchy, in the name of liberty and local rights. 

In 1780 Marshall was admitted to the bar, having finished 
his studies with Chancellor Wythe at William and Mary’s Col¬ 
lege. Soon after commencing his professional life, the war 
being over and the Courts of law reopened, he removed to 
Richmond, where he spent the remainder of his life. It will be 
noticed that his legal acquisitions must have been inconsiderable, 
a fact that brings into prominent relief the greatness of his natural 
genius. Indeed, I have sometimes asked myself as I have read his 
masterly decisions, conspicuous for the absence of citations but 
moving along the lines of inexorable logic to irresistible and 
just conclusions, whether even his deficiencies in legal education 
were not conducive to his success. The station which he was to 
fill was without precedent in the history of Courts of law and 


40 


there was nothing in the tomes upon tomes of legal precedent 
which could afford him material aid in discharging its most im¬ 
portant duties. Even the Court of King’s Bench, over which the 
great Mansfield had so long presided, what had it ever said that 
should be a guide to him whose judicial utterance was to be the 
harmony of States? Nothing could have been more unfortu¬ 
nate, to my thinking, than that the Chief Justiceship should have 
been filled, during the era of Marshall, by a pedant who could 
never reach a conclusion until he had read it in a book. 

We have had a picture of Marshall as a boy soldier; let us 
now take a look at him as a young lawyer at Richmond. He 
is said to have been frank and cordial in his manner, social in 
habits, somewhat negligent in dress and rustic in general appear¬ 
ance. But he inspired that confidence which only true natures 
permanently inspire, and clients flocked to him until he became 
the leading lawyer in Richmond. And though there was no 
charm in his voice or grace of action in his manner, though the 
special gifts of the orator were as lacking in him as they were 
conspicuous in his rival, Patrick Henry, he became as distin¬ 
guished as an advocate as he afterwards became as a Judge. 
The following passage from the flowing pen of William Wirt 
accounts for his pre-eminence in his profession: 

“This extraordinary man, without the aid of fancy, without 
the advantages of person, voice, attitude, gesture, or any of the 
ornaments of an orator, deserves to be considered as one of the 
most eloquent men in the world; if eloquence may be said to 
consist in the power of seizing the attention with irresistible 
force, and never permitting it to elude the grasp, until the hearer 

has received the conviction which the speaker intends. 

He possesses one original, and almost supernatural faculty; the 
faculty of developing a subject by a single glance of his mind, 
and detecting at once the very point on which every controversy 
depends. No matter what the question, though ten times more 
knotty than ‘The gnarled oak’, the lightning of heaven is not 
more rapid or more resistless than his astonishing penetration. 
Nor does the exercise of it seem to cost him an effort. On the 
contrary, it is as easy as vision. I am persuaded that his eyes 
do not fly over a landscape, and take in its various objects with 
more promptitude and facility, than his mind embraces and 

analyzes the most complex subject.There is no stopping 

to weave garlands of flowers to hang in festoons around a 


4i 


favorite argument; on the contrary, every sentence is progressive; 
every idea sheds new light on the subject; the listener is kept 
perpetually in that sweet, pleasurable vibration with which the 
mind of man always receives new truths; the dawn advances 
with easy but unremitting pace; the subject opens gradually on 
the view; until, rising in high relief, in all its native colors and 
proportions, the argument is consummated by the conviction of 
the delighted hearer.” 

The period succeeding the revolution was especially adapted 
to give success to lawyers who excelled in native vigor of intel¬ 
lect. The law was unsettled. Questions were continually aris¬ 
ing upon which but little light could be shed, excepting that 
which comes from sound judgment and right reason. This con¬ 
dition of things afforded a splendid field for the exercise of that 
“Judgment which, in Marshall, amounted to genius,” and was 
in turn a school of invaluable practice for the expounder of that 
most original of all governmental agencies, the Federal Consti¬ 
tution. 

One of the most celebrated of these novel cases was the 
British debt case, tried in Richmond in 1793 in the United States 
Circuit Court. Chief Justice Jay presided. John Marshall and 
Patrick Henry represented the American debtors. The case 
arose in this way: The treaty of peace had provided that 
creditors on either side should meet with no lawful impediment 
to the recovery of bona fide debts theretofore contracted. The 
question before the Court was, whether debts which had been 
sequestered by the Virginia assembly and paid into the treasury 
of the State during the war could be recovered by the British 
creditors. The array of counsel on both sides was imposing and 
the display of learning and eloquence was such that the Countess 
of Huntington, who was present at the trial, remarked of the 
several advocates: “If every one of them had spoken in West¬ 
minster Hall, they would have been honored with a peerage.” 
It was upon this trial that Patrick Henry spoke with such splen¬ 
dor of eloquence that the Countess, pointing to the diamond on 
Henry’s finger, exclaimed to one of the Judges: “See! The 
diamond is blazing”; and the Judge, who had never before 
heard him, replied: “Gracious God! He is an orator indeed!” 
The argument of Marshall, as usual, aimed exclusively at 
strength. No full report of it remains, but an idea of its power 
may be obtained from the abstract contained in the report of 


42 


the case as afterward heard, on appeal, in the Supreme Court at 
Philadelphia. It was of this hearing that William Wirt spoke 
in the following extract, although he was mistaken in supposing 
that the hearing at Philadelphia had reference to the carriage 
tax. 

“From what I have heard of Campbell, I believe that, for 
mere eloqenuce, his equal has never been seen in the United 
States. He and the Chief Justice went to Philadelphia to argue 
a cause which turned on the constitutionality of the carriage 
tax. It was somewhere about 1795 or 1796. They were opposed 
by Hamilton, Lewis and others. Campbell played off his Apol¬ 
lonian air; but they were lost. Marshall spoke, as he always does, 
to the judgment merely, and for the simple purpose of con¬ 
vincing. Marshall was justly pronounced one of the greatest 
men of the country. He was followed by crowds, looked upon 
and courted with every evidence of admiration and respect for 
the great powers of his mind. Campbell was neglected and 
slighted, and came home in disgust. Marshall’s maxim seems 
always to have been ‘Aim exclusively at strength’; and from his 
eminent success, I say, if I had my life to go over again, I would 
practice on his maxim with the most rigorous severity, until the 
character of my mind was established.” 

The Duke de Liancourt, who was in Philadelphia in 1797, thus 
speaks of lawyer Marshall: 

“Mr. J. Marshall, conspicuously eminent as a professor of 
the law, is, beyond all doubt, one of those who rank highest in 
the public opinion at Richmond. He is what is termed a Federal¬ 
ist, and perhaps, at times, somewhat warm in support of his 
opinions, but never exceeding the bounds of propriety, which a 
man of his goodness, and prudence, and knowledge is incapable 
of transgressing. He may be considered as a distinguished 
character in the United States. His political enemies allow him 
to possess great talents, but accuse him of ambition. I know not 
whether the charge be well or ill-grounded, or whether ambition 
might ever be able to impel him to a dereliction of his principles— 
a conduct of which I am inclined to disbelieve the possibility on 
his part. He has already refused several employments under the 
General Government, preferring the income derived from his 
professional labors (which is more than sufficient for his mod¬ 
erate system of economy), together with a life of tranquil ease 
in the midst of his family, and in his native town. Even by his 


43 


friends he is taxed with some little propensity to indolence; but, 
even if this reproach were well-founded, he, nevertheless, dis¬ 
plays great superiority in his profession when he applies his mind 
to business.” 

Marshall wrote, long afterwards: “The wild and en¬ 
thusiastic notions with which my political opinions of that day 
were tinctured, my devotion to the Union, and to a government 
competent to its preservation, I am disposed to ascribe at least 
as much to casual circumstances as to judgment. I had grown 
up at a time when the love of the Union, and the resistance of 
the claims of Great Britain, were the inseparable inmates of the 
same bosom; when patriotism and a strong fellow-feeling with 
our suffering fellow-citizens of Boston were identical; when the 
maxim, ‘United we stand; divided we fall,’ was the maxim of 
every orthodox American; and I had imbibed these sentiments 
so thoroughly, that they constituted a part of my being. I car¬ 
ried them with me into the army, where I found myself asso¬ 
ciated with brave men from different States who were risking 
life and everything valuable in a common cause, believed by all 
to be most precious, and where I was in the habit of considering 
America as my country, and Congress as my government.” 

I must now pass hurriedly over events until Marshall’s ap¬ 
pointment to the Chief Justiceship, noting first that in 1783 he 
was married to Mary Willis Ambler, with whom he spent a most 
happy domestic life. In spite of himself, he was made a member 
of the Virginia assembly soon after he commenced to practice 
law. The Federal Constitution had not then been adopted and 
the Federal authority, based upon the articles of confederation, 
weak at the best, was greatly relaxed by the termination of actual 
war. In his capacity as legislator, he was the constant advocate 
of the Federal authority, and supported all measures to enable 
it to perform its obligations to the army and public creditors. 
He earnestly combatted, against all champions however eloquent 
or powerful, those views then popular in Virginia, which made 
the State the Palladium of liberty, and a Federal Government 
of augmented powers the foe of free institutions. He was again 
and again elected to the assembly, but no matter how unpopular 
his views might be, there was never an uncertain sound in his 
advocacy of a stronger government. Meanwhile the affairs of 
the Confederated States were fast sinking into utter disorder. 
It was evident to thinking minds that a crisis would soon be 


44 


reached, and the paramount political question was how to arrest 
the downward tendency. A large party known as Federalists, 
of which Washington was the leader, maintained that the central 
government should be strengthened; that it should have the 
power to regulate commerce; that, within the limits of its powers, 
it should operate directly upon the people and not depend upon 
the co-operation of the States for the enforcement of its execu¬ 
tive functions. In all the States, and in none more than in 
Virginia, there was also a party composed of those who were 
jealous of Federal authority. They dreaded its enlargement and 
professed to believe, as in some cases they honestly did believe, 
that to give the central government the powers demanded by their 
opponents was to substitute a tyranny at home for the cast-off 
tyranny that had ruled them from beyond the seas. As we have 
seen, Patrick Henry belonged to this party and gave it the sup¬ 
port of his brilliant powers. He was ably seconded by George 
Mason and William Grayson, both men of great ability, and theirs 
was the popular side until the experience of the actual evils of a 
government little better than a reign of anarchy compelled them, 
through the penalties of dearly-bought experience, to come to the 
views which Washington, Madison and Marshall had long sus¬ 
tained from principle. This devotion to principle and the confi¬ 
dence it inspired more than once elected Marshall to the assembly 
by a constituency a majority of whom detested his political views. 
He was not a member of the convention which, in 1787, at Phila¬ 
delphia, framed the Federal Constitution, but at his post in the 
Virginia legislature he labored to prepare the mind of Virginia 
for its adoption. 

When the Constitution was submitted to the people, he was 
a member of the Virginia convention. It is nearly impossible 
for us at this day, when business and traffic have come so largely 
to occupy the attention of men, to imagine the interest felt among 
the people at large in the proceedings of such a body as that 
Virginia convention in the olden time. 

Judge Story, describing the scene, declares that: “No bustle, 
no motion, no sound was heard among them, save only a slight 
movement when some new speaker arose whom they were 
eager to see as well as to hear; or when some master stroke of 
eloquence shot thrilling through their nerves, and extorted an 


45 


involuntary and inarticulate murmur. Day after day was this 
banquet of the mind and of the heart spread before them, with 
a delicacy and variety which would never cloy.” 

There were Patrick Henry, George Mason and William Gray¬ 
son,—a trio of men of eloquence and genius seldom equalled, 
opposed to the ratification of the proposed constitution. Among 
its supporters were James Matson, Edmund Randolph, and John 
Marshall. A greater contrast could hardly have been conceived 
than that between the oratorical powers of Patrick Henry, and 
the argumentative powers of John Marshall. The first possessed 
imagination and oratorical fervor, while the other, depending 
upon reason alone, commanded every bit as close attention as 
his more eloquent opponent. 

The first speech of Marshall was in reply to Patrick Henry 
and to the claim that the advocates of the Constitution desired a 
too powerful government. 

He made two other speeches in the Convention, the last 
being in favor of the judiciary clause in the Constitution,—a 
characteristic and powerful effort. After the ratification of the 
Constitution by Virginia,—the vote standing upon the final ques¬ 
tion of adoption, 89 in the affirmative to 79 in the negative,— 
Marshall continued for some years a member of the State legis¬ 
lature. The battle of the giants over the powers of the Federal 
government still continued—the two political parties, who had 
before divided upon the question whether or not the Constitu¬ 
tion should be adopted, now contending with each other upon 
theories of interpretation. The party of Henry contended for 
a strict construction, while Washington and Marshall were in 
favor of a more liberal construction that would give full effect 
to all the necessary measures of government. For instance, the 
system of Hamilton, providing for the assumption of State 
debts, was attacked in the Virginia assembly as unconstitutional. 
Marshall sustained the measure with his accustomed clearness 
and power of argument. Again, when in a subsequent legis¬ 
lature Jay’s treaty was attacked, Marshall defended it, although 
his friends begged him not to sacrifice his popularity by engaging 
in the discussion. 

About this period the Attorney Generalship of the United 
States was tendered him, but he declined it on account of his 
large practice. Soon afterwards he was sent by President Adams, 
together with Gen. Pickney and Eldridge Gerry, on a special 


46 


mission to France, to adjust, if possible, the delicate relations 
existing between the two republics. The failure of this mission 
is only too well known, but the share of Marshall in it,—includ¬ 
ing the masterly State papers, in which he defended the Ameri¬ 
can policy toward France,—was in every way creditable to him. 
On his return he was received at Philadelphia,—at that time the 
National Capital,—in a spirit of ovation, and was given a public 
dinner by members of both Houses of Congress. It was at this 
dinner that the celebrated sentiment was pronounced: “Millions 
for defence but not one cent for tribute!” 

Soon after, Marshall took the step which separated him 
finally from his professional practice. The circumstances under 
which this separation took place were highly complimentary. 
Washington invited him to spend a few days at Mt. Vernon. 
Once there, he found that the object of the invitation was to 
induce him to enter Congress and give his powers to the support 
of the Federal party in resisting those downward tendencies 
which the Father of his country regarded with gloomy appre¬ 
hension. 

Marshall finally yielded to his solicitations and was elected 
to Congress after a sharp contest. He took his seat in December, 
1799, when it was almost his first duty to announce the death of 
Washington. He closed his affecting speech on that sad occa¬ 
sion by presenting those resolutions, said to have been drafted 
by General Lee, in which Washington is described as being 
“First in war, first in peace and first in the hearts of his country¬ 
men.” 

To the administration of John Adams he gave an ardent 
but not undiscriminating support. His speech in the case of 
Jonathan Robbins is celebrated, and forever settled the question 
of International Law involved. 

But his Congressional career was a short one. President 
Adams made him Secretary of State, and soon afterward, upon 
the resignation of Oliver Ellsworth, made him, with the unani¬ 
mous concurrence of the Senate, the Chief Justice of the United 
States. 

I wish I could set forth in fitting terms my conception of 
the grandeur of the tribunal over which he was called to preside. 
Of all the innovations created by the Constitution of the United 
States the Supreme Court is the most unique and original. The 
proudest of the Courts of England afforded no pattern for it and 


47 


no feature of the Constitution so wonderfully displays the 
creative genius of that remarkable body of men who met in 
Independence Hall as that article which vests the judicial power 
of the United States in one Supreme Court and such inferior 
Courts as Congress may from time to time ordain and establish. 

Under the Confederation, there had been no Federal Courts 
whatever, and nowhere in the world had there ever existed a 
Court which had jurisdiction over controversies between citizens 
who owed allegiance to different States or Nations, much less 
between independent States themselves. 

It was this august tribunal to which Marshall was appointed 
in 1801 at the age of forty-five, and over which he presided for 
nearly thirty-five years, making it a veritable throne of Justice 
and of Judgment. The sessions of the Supreme Court were held 
at the new city of Washington for the first time in the winter 
of 1801. The associate Justices were Cushing, of Massachusetts; 
Patterson, of New Jersey; Moore, of North Carolina; and 
Washington, of Virginia,—the latter a nephew of the first Presi¬ 
dent. 

Daniel Webster, in a letter to his brother Ezekiel, once said: 
“There is no man in the Court that strikes me like Marshall. 
He is a plain man, looking very much like Col. Adams and about 
three inches taller.” 

The appointment of Marshall was a triumph of the liberal 
constructionists, for, as we have seen, that construction had been 
adopted by him deliberately and had come to be almost a part of 
his intellectual being. 

The first case that came before Marshall, involving an im¬ 
portant constitutional question, was that of Marburg v. Madison. 
A mandamus was moved for, to compel Mr. Madison, who was 
Secretary of State under Jefferson, to deliver a commission which 
had been signed by President Adams but which had not been de¬ 
livered when his term of office expired. An Act of Congress 
authorized the Supreme Court to issue writs of mandamus and 
it was upon this Statute the motion was based. 

The conclusions of the Chief Justice, in this case, have never 
been shaken or even doubted since the day when his decision 
was rendered. 

Another celebrated trial, over which Marshall presided upon 
the Circuit, was one involving the law of treason as applied to 
the case of Aaron Burr. 


48 


At the age of 74, Judge Marshall was elected a member of 
the convention which met in 1829 to revise the Constitution of 
Virginia. He participated sparingly in the debates but upon one 
subject he spoke almost, says one writer, with the authority of 
an apostle. That subject was the independence of the judiciary. 

The simplicity of his character is shown by the inscription 
which he prepared for his monument two days before his death: 

“John Marshall, son of Thos. and Mary Marshall, was born 
on the 24th of Sept. 1755; intermarried with Mary Willis Ambler 
the 3rd of January 1783; departed this life the . .. .day of. .. ., 
18...” 

He died on the 6th day of July, 1835, and thereby terminated 
a career which seems to me to have been as thoroughly symmetri¬ 
cal and perfect as ever fell to the lot of uninspired man. 


49 


OLIVER ELLSWORTH 


Oliver Ellsworth was one of Connecticut’s first Senators. 
When the Senate opened in New York on March 4th, 1789, 
Ellsworth and Wm. Samuel Johnson were on hand, as Senators 
from Connecticut. Sherman was elected to the House. Six 
other Senators were present. A month later, April 6th, Richard 
Henry Lee of Virginia appeared, and a quorum being present, 
the ballots for the President and Vice President were counted, 
showing the election of Washington. Adams was elected Vice 
President. 

The proceedings of the Senate were behind closed doors, 
and we should know little of them but for the journal kept by 
William McClay, a Senator from Pennsylvania, during the first 
two sessions. McClay was a narrow-minded strict construction¬ 
ist. He despised everything of Federal origin. He was even 
grieved at the behavior of Washington and freely criticised 
Ellsworth on all occasions. Nevertheless his record established 
the fact that Ellsworth was one of the trusted and powerful 
leaders of the Senate; one of the Senators who in that early day 
fully met all of the requirements of the novel situation in which 
the new government was placed. He was on many of its com¬ 
mittees whose duties were to provide for new conditions; but 
his great service and the one which entitles him to fame and 
honor was his connection with the bill for organizing the Ju¬ 
diciary of the United States. 

On the day following the first day on which a quorum was 
present, Ellsworth was appointed at the head of a committee to 
organize a Judiciary. With no precedents to follow excepting 
those of the most general character, he drafted a bill for that 
purpose which deserves to be placed next after the Constitution 
of the United States as the greatest work of constructive states¬ 
manship of the Colonial era. Its authorship is universally con¬ 
ceded to Ellsworth, and it has been in all of its essential features 
the law of the land from the day of its enactment down to the 


50 


present time. Slight changes have been made, principally to 
adapt the law to the growing needs of a growing country, but 
in all of its great outlines the law is still the same. 

The great controversy over the Judiciary Bill related to the 
establishment of the inferior courts. Article III of the Federal 
Constitution, which by many is ascribed to Ellsworth, provides 
that the Judiciary power of the United States shall be vested in 
the Supreme Court and such inferior courts as the Congress may 
from time to time ordain and establish. The question was 
whether to set up a complete system of inferior courts, or to 
confine the National Judiciary to a Supreme Court and inferior 
courts of Maritime Jurisdiction only. As Ellsworth outlined the 
system there was to be a Supreme Court consisting of six judges, 
and a District Court with one judge for each State, with juris¬ 
diction in admiralty. His bill provided also that the United, 
States be divided into three judicial circuits presided over by 
courts consisting of two judges of the Supreme Court and a 
district judge. This court was to hear appeals from the District 
Court and have jurisdiction in all controversies with foreigners 
and citizens of different States, where the value of the matter 
in dispute was more than two thousand dollars. 

This subject is of course extremely technical and I need not 
dwell upon it, but all persons competent to judge look upon 
Ellsworth’s draft of a Judiciary bill, as one of the greatest efforts 
of constructive statesmanship that the mind of man has ever 
thrown off at a single effort. 

The bill remained practically unaltered until 1869, when the 
Supreme Court judges were relieved from holding Circuit Courts. 
Later on, in 1891, the act was amended by a bill establishing 
intermediate courts of appeal, to relieve the Supreme Court from 
the enormous number of cases which clogged its docket. Both 
changes were made necessary, not by any deficiency in the prin¬ 
ciple of the original act, but by the growth of the country and 
the corresponding increase of litigation. At the very outset, Lee, 
of Virginia, attempted to amend this bill so as to prevent the 
establishment of any inferior Federal tribunals, except for ad¬ 
miralty and maritime cases. Had this amendment prevailed, the 
bill would have lost its character as a complete compliance with 
the constitutional mandate, and the new government would have 
entered upon its career shorn of much of its rightful authority. 
Fortunately, Lee’s amendment was voted down. 


5i 


Ellsworth was not only the author but the principal de¬ 
fender of the Judiciary Bill. McClay’s account of the debate dis¬ 
closes Ellsworth meeting the antagonists of the bill with learning 
and adroitness, and carrying everything before him in a long, 
strenuous and successful effort to secure the passage of the act. 
Both in the Senate and in the House the opposition was strong 
and uncompromising, but Ellsworth at last had the gratification of 
securing the passage of the great Judiciary Act in substantially 
the form in which it emanated from his mind. The great claim 
of Ellsworth to the remembrance of his countrymen, next to 
securing the passage of the “Connecticut Compromise,” is his 
composition and championship of the Judiciary Act of 1789. 

I cannot dwell upon Ellsworth’s other legislative achieve¬ 
ments. He was active in all the measures called for by the new 
and novel circumstances in which he found himself as a Senator 
of the first Congress, and everywhere chose his position with 
wisdom and maintained it with power. He was the ally of 
Hamilton in sustaining the great financial measures which 
Hamilton originated as Secretary of the Treasury. All accounts 
agree that his labors were incessant in building up the federal 
power which he had helped to establish. He was the friend and 
supporter of the administration of Washington,—perhaps the 
chiefest pillar on which Washington depended. 

Everyone is familiar with the troubles growing out of our 
relations with France and England which descended upon Wash¬ 
ington’s administration. The opposition to the party of Ellsworth 
sided openly with France and seemed bent upon forcing the ad¬ 
ministration to a complete break with England. Genet, the 
French Minister, did all that he could to drive us into either a 
subservient alliance or a complete rupture with the French gov¬ 
ernment. England at the same time seemed to be doing its best 
to rival the folly of Genet by hostile conduct even more damaging 
to our interests. 

Ellsworth became absorbed in international questions, but, 
as usual, kept his head. In his indignation at foreign outrages 
he never lost his judgment. In a conference with some of his 
Senatorial friends a decision was reached that an envoy ought 
to be sent to England to negotiate a treaty. 


52 


Ellsworth sought an interview with Washington and laid 
the matter before him. Washington hesitated, but at last John 
Jay was selected as an envoy and, after a violent debate, his 
nomination was confirmed. Everyone knows that the Jay treaty 
met with tremendous opposition, but it averted war. Ellsworth 
was at his home in Windsor when the treaty came before Wash¬ 
ington for signature. It is said that for several months he had 
hardly slept at all. He paced the floor with the most intense 
anxiety. For once he seemed to have doubted even Washington’s 
firmness and courage. Convinced of the wisdom of accepting the 
treaty, he wrote to Wolcott on the very day when the treaty was 
signed: 

“If the President decides wrong or does not decide soon, his 
good fortune will forsake him.” 

Jay’s treaty averted war, and Ellsworth’s contribution to 
that result entitles him to his country’s gratitude. 

It is greatly to be regretted that the first Senate held its 
sessions behind closed doors. I cannot help thinking that Ells¬ 
worth’s fame would be more nearly proportioned to his great 
desert had the measures of the Senate been openly debated and 
enacted. His great qualities, however, had become con¬ 
spicuous, and in 1796 he was appointed Chief Justice of the 
United States by President Washington. Ellsworth was nomi¬ 
nated for Chief Justice, March 4, 1796. Four days later he took 
his seat on the bench of the Supreme Court and within a month 
sailed for Savannah to act upon the Southern Circuit. It is 
hardly necessary for me to consider Ellsworth as a Supreme 
Court Judge. His tenure was so brief and the causes at that 
early date were so few that he had little opportunity to display 
his judicial powers. Then too, he was succeeded in our genera¬ 
tion by Judge Marshall, the greatest judge, all things considered, 
that ever presided over a court. Ellsworth, however, maintained 
the great traditions of a great court; his decisions had to traverse 
untried paths and to create rather than follow precedents. In 
person, he looked the Chief Justice—his tall figure, strong fea¬ 
tures, clear penetrating eyes, resonant voice and simple manners 
made him an impressive figure on the bench. He presided with 
great dignity, and while unpretentious in manner, always main¬ 
tained the severe dignity of the court. 


53 


But, great as were Ellsworth’s achievements as lawmaker 
and judge, his statesmanship exhibited itself especially in the 
great Constitutional Convention. 

It was Ellsworth, along with Sherman and Johnson, who 
championed what is known as the “Connecticut Compromise,” 
and by his unwearying persistency and power in debate was in¬ 
fluential in securing its adoption. This result was reached after 
a long debate and after a period of depression in which nearly 
all despaired of ultimate success. This important step having 
been taken, however, the convention emerged into serener seas, 
and the remaining portion of its work was comparatively easy. 

I need not here speak of the condition into which the Conti¬ 
nental Congress, which had waged the war, had now degener¬ 
ated. Depending wholly upon the individual States, each within 
its own limits, to enforce the decrees of the central government, 
all authority had degenerated into what was little better than 
chaosl 

In 1783—four years before—Ellsworth had written to Gov¬ 
ernor Trumbull: 

“There must, sir, be a revenue somehow established, that 
can be relied on, and applied for national purposes, as the exi¬ 
gencies arise, independent of the will or views of a single State, 
or it will be impossible to support national faith or national ex¬ 
istence. The powers of Congress must be adequate to the pur¬ 
poses of their constitution. It is possible there may be abuses 
and mis-application, still it is better to hazard something, than 
to hazard all.” 

Everyone realized that a more powerful central govern¬ 
ment was necessary, one operative upon individuals instead of 
States, but when the constructive problem of forming such a 
government came up in the Constitutional Convention, there was 
no unanimity of opinion, but, on the other hand, almost infinite 
diversity. Over the Convention George Washington presided; 
Benjamin Franklin was its oldest member and Roger Sherman 
of Connecticut was next in seniority. A more illustrious body 
of men never assembled. They had felt by experience the weak¬ 
ness of the Confederation but, on the other hand, they were gen¬ 
erally jealous of centralized power. They had not just escaped 
from the thraldom of Great Britain to knowingly forge chains 
for their own restraint. 


54 


The first plan that was brought forward was expressed in 
certain Virginia Resolutions, and was known as the “Virginia 
plan.” It had been agreed to by a committee of the delegates of 
that State, Edmund Randolph, governor of Virginia, presenting 
it. The laws of the Confederation had operated upon States. 
There was no real national government. The national idea was 
at the root of the Virginia plan which provided for two Houses 
of Congress, both of which should in some way represent the 
people and not the States. It was quickly recognized that this 
placed the powers of government in the hands of the great States, 
and left the small States at their mercy. Naturally, the smaller 
States strongly opposed such a system. Other features of the 
Virginia plan need not be mentioned in this connection. 

It was the Virginia proposition to make the two Houses 
represent the people instead of the States that gave rise to the 
great debate of the Constitutional Convention. The representa¬ 
tives of the smaller States were all against it, but they differed 
singularly among themselves as to the system which they would 
substitute. In the name of the smaller States, however, William 
Patterson laid before the convention what was called the “New 
Jersey Plan.” This plan was in its nature an improvement of 
the articles of the Confederation, and along the same general 
lines. It provided for an assembly consisting of a single House in 
which the States should have equal representation. There was 
also to be an Executive Council and a Federal Judiciary. 

Early in the contest it was decided that there should be two 
Houses, the larger States insisting that the members of both 
should be elected on the basis of population, while the smaller 
States, in one form and another, stood for the Federal principle 
as embodied under the Confederation in a single house of dele¬ 
gates. 

The debate upon this question nearly broke up the Conven¬ 
tion in spite of the profound conviction on the part of all the 
members that to dissolve the convention meant the end of all 
united authority. The New Jersey plan was vigorously opposed 
by Hamilton, Madison and Wilson. The debate upon the merits 
of the question degenerated into an angry dispute. It was at 
this point that the Connecticut delegation brought forward what 
has become known in history as the “Connecticut Compromise.” 
Ellsworth and Sherman proposed that the members of the Senate 
should be elected by the States, while members of the House 


55 


should be elected by the people. This, they said, would give the 
great States the power which belonged to their numbers in one 
branch, while equality of representation in the other house would 
protect the smaller States. But Hamilton, Madison and Wilson 
thought they saw in this another attempt to establish the principle 
that had brought the Continental Congress to its low estate, and 
persistently opposed the proposition. “The Convention was on 
the verge of dissolution and was scarce held together by the 
strength of a hair,” declared Luther Martin, one of the delegates. 

At this juncture Abraham Baldwin, a delegate from Georgia 
but a Connecticut man by birth, voted for the Connecticut Com¬ 
promise. This divided the State of Georgia, and rendered its 
vote nugatory and made the vote taken on the Connecticut plan 
result in a tie; but the Virginia plan, in this vote, encountered a 
barrier which it could not overcome. The moral effect of the tie 
vote was in favor of the Connecticut Compromise. 

A large committee was then formed, of which Ellsworth 
was a member, to which was referred the exciting question, and 
the result was the adoption of the Compromise championed by 
Ellsworth, under whose provisions we have been governed, for 
more than one hundred years, by a government half Federal and 
half National. 

This brief statement gives very little idea of the power 
which Ellsworth exercised in debate during the period in which 
the great question remained unsettled. He was on his feet re¬ 
peatedly, and championed the Compromise with tremendous 
energy and almost infinite tact. As one reads the account, he is 
impressed with Ellsworth’s inflexible, tremendous persistency. He 
believed he was right, and refused to consider even the pos¬ 
sibility of failure. A period of gloom rested upon the conven¬ 
tion for days and weeks, during which agreement seemed im¬ 
possible. The solution at last came in accordance with the views 
of Ellsworth, and the Connecticut Compromise, then adopted, 
is looked upon by philosophic historians and statesmen as the 
great achievement of the Constitutional Convention; the one, in¬ 
deed, which gave to the government founded upon it the assur¬ 
ance of permanency. The effect of the Connecticut Compromise 
was wonderfully harmonizing, since the small States, now feeling 
secure against the power of their larger associates, forgot their 
scruples about thoroughly overhauling the government and were 
ready to entrust extensive powers to the new Congress. 


56 


Other compromises had to be made,- but the one great com¬ 
promise having been adopted the others came easier, nor need 
they be dwelt upon here. Ellsworth was heard often in debate, 
was always listened to with respect and consideration, and im¬ 
pressed his associates with the moderation and wisdom of his 
opinions. 

This work of Ellsworth and his associates was one of those 
achievements of constructive statesmanship which place their 
authors upon pedestals of enduring fame, and entitle them to 
rank among the great leaders of human progress. 

Having thus stamped upon the Constitution in its most 
fundamental feature the impression of his wisdom and power 
in debate—Ellsworth, with Sherman, appeared in the Connecticut 
Convention which was called to act upon the adoption of the Con¬ 
stitution. In that convention he made two speeches of great 
power; the first related to the instrument as a whole, analyzed 
its provisions in detail and warmly championed their adoption. 
The second, made a little later, was on the provision for Federal 
Taxation. The opposition was overcome and routed and the 
Constitution was adopted in the Connecticut Convention by a 
vote of one hundred and twenty-eight to forty,—more than three 
to one! 

The crowning title of Ellsworth to the veneration of suc¬ 
ceeding generations is his connection with the Connecticut Com¬ 
promise in the convention that framed the Federal Constitution. 
This entitles him to be considered as a constructive statesman 
of the highest order—one of the giants of the revolutionary 
period. 


57 


* 



“MR SPEAKER!” 

The story of the Speaker is full of human interest as a 
narrative of events and persons, and is charged with scientific 
interest as a study in evolution. This paper will dwell particu¬ 
larly upon the latter phase of the story. It will seek to trace 
the steps by which the power of the presiding officer of the 
American House of Representatives grew from time to time 
until, as “Mr. Speaker,” he became the Autocrat of that body, 
the shaper of the destinies of its members and the dictator of 
legislation and legislative policy. 

Who, then, is Mr. Speaker? The first mention of the 
Speaker giving the name of that official dates back to 1377. The 
name given is Thomas de Hungerford. His official character 
was indicated by his official name. The Speaker was the spokes¬ 
man of the House of Commons in all communications to the 
King and to the Nation. He composed all petitions and framed 
all memorials. This office of the Speaker is scarcely recognized 
in American usage, but the title of Speaker still survives and 
carries with it great power and honor. 

It would be a pleasure to trace the development of the 
Speaker’s power in English history from the time when Speaker 
Hungerford’s name was first mentioned, through the tumultuous 
years that followed until the Speaker’s complete release from 
subserviency to the crown was effected and until he became, in 
independence as well as in honor, the chief figure of the House 
of Commons; but I shall certainly find enough to engage our 
attention if I confine my paper to the Speaker who, by the Con¬ 
stitution of the United States, is made the presiding officer of the 
lower House of Congress. 

The first Speaker of the House was Frederick Muhlenberg. 
Elected a member of the first Congress, he presided over its de¬ 
liberations in an era of profound peace and harmony. The South 
had furnished a President in the person of Washington, John 
Adams, of the North, presided over the Senate, and Pennsylvania, 
one of the Middle States, furnished the Speaker of the House. 


At that time there were no political parties. All members of 
Congress were rivals only in their zeal to uphold the administra¬ 
tion of Washington. To oppose the wishes of Washington was 
to commit political suicide. During this first session all the com¬ 
mittees of the House were chosen by ballot, but this method of 
election was destined to speedy alteration. In January, 1790, the 
House conferred upon the Speaker the power of appointing the 
committees. This was the first step in the evolutionary develop¬ 
ment of the Speaker’s power. This step made him more than a 
moderator; but the number of the committees was so small, and 
the right of appointment was exercised in such a spirit that the 
Speaker’s power was but little increased. 

The year 1793 is marked by the birth of political parties. 
On the one hand were the Federalists, and on the other the Anti- 
Federalists or Republicans. Muhlenberg was elected Speaker 
the second time, but his occupancy of the chair developed nothing 
worthy of notice. 

Nathaniel Macon, of Georgia, became Speaker in 1801, the 
first Southerner to be chosen to that office. A reaction against 
Federalism had now set in. Scores of men filled with ideas of 
democratic equality came to Washington. For the first time we 
had an executive who held Congress to the task which he imposed. 
This, Washington had not done; this, Adams could not do. To 
Jefferson, however, Congress was subservient. A master mind 
was at the helm, and Jefferson found an able and willing ally in 
Macon. Macon was the first Speaker to assert his constitutional 
right to vote. It was not his custom to take the floor in debate, 
but he exercised the power of leadership from the chair. Opposi¬ 
tion naturally developed, culminating in the election of Varnum, 
of Massachusetts, by a single vote. Varnum made no impression 
upon his time, and from 1789 to 1811 the Speaker was little more 
than a presiding officer. Though he had named the committees 
since 1790, he had not dominated legislation in a political sense, 
and he had not denied recognition to the members of the House. 
He was the servant of the House and not its ruler. 

When Congress convened in the next session, however, a 
new aspect was presented. On November 4th, 1811, seventy new 
members appeared, to assume the duties of legislation. Many of 
them were young men. There was Henry Clay, in his 34th year, 
John C. Calhoun, not quite thirty, Felix Grundy, the same age 
as Clay, and other leading members, all under forty. New men 


59 


had come forward since the revolutionary era,—men who could 
not remember the battles of Lexington and Bunker Hill. These 
younger statesmen were bold and aggressive. They talked of 
conquering Canada and Florida, gazed longingly upon Mexico 
and were ready at once to participate in a war with England. 
Henry Clay, of the War Republicans, was elected Speaker upon 
the very day of his first appearance on the floor of the House. 
No wonder the country resounded with the question: “Who is 
Henry Clay?” Before this time Clay had been a member of the 
Senate, where he had attracted some attention as an orator and 
a statesman; but, who was he that he should aspire to the Speaker- 
ship on his first appearance in the House? Brought up in a 
school of hardship, Henry Clay had graduated from the priva¬ 
tions of early manhood into political leadership. Though the 
youngest man ever elected Speaker, he was entirely competent 
to assume the responsibilities of that position. From the first, he 
realized its possibilities and used his power to promote political 
purposes by filling the Committees with men subservient to his 
will. The Committees on Foreign Relations, Military Affairs, 
Naval Matters, and Ways and Means, were all placed in the 
hands of the War party, which was thus enabled to bring on the 
war with England. The Speaker was no longer a mere modera¬ 
tor; the Speakership was in the hands of a great party leader. 
Clay debated every important question, but he seldom aroused 
personal opposition. His methods were so manly, it is said, that 
not one of his decisions was over-ruled. So far as possible, mat¬ 
ters of importance were disposed of in the Committee for the 
Whole in order that to his party management might be added 
the power of his surpassing eloquence. Robert Winthrop said 
of him: “While the House was ever harmonious under the magic 
of his dominion, it was more the harmony of mastery than the 
accord of freedom.” Clay has been called the greatest of Ameri¬ 
can Speakers, and perhaps this judgement would be confirmed 
by the majority of those qualified to judge. The notable thing, 
from the standpoint of this paper, is the growth, under his do¬ 
minion, of the political power of the Speaker. No other presid¬ 
ing officer of the House ever so harmoniously combined the 
functions of member, moderator and party leader. Though it 
is said that he added more power to the Speakership than any 
successor or predecessor, he was never assailed with the cry of 




“Czar” or “Tyrant” so often heard in recent years. Clay ceased 
to be the Speaker in 1825, and entered the cabinet of the second 
Adams. 

The Congress which came in with Jackson was overwhelm¬ 
ingly Democratic. Jackson’s personality controlled the whole 
government. He followed the proceedings of Congress with the 
solicitude of a parent. Under him, the rewards of loyalty were 
great and the penalties of insurrection were greater. Andrew 
Stephenson, of Virginia, was elected Speaker, and administered 
his office in the interest of the White House. No speaker of 
Congress had ever been so responsive to executive dictation. 
Stephenson was succeeded by James K. Polk, who, like his prede¬ 
cessor, was a party man and created much bitterness among the 
minority. 

It was at this period that John Quincy Adams excited the 
animosity of the slave holders by presenting petitions for the 
abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia. In 1837, he 
presented a petition which, he said, came from 22 slaves. Silence 
and bewilderment followed for a moment, then the very elements 
seemed to rage. Cries of “Expel him! Expel him!” resounded 
on every side, but Adams was not expelled. Polk was Speaker 
for fourteen consecutive years. Although a somewhat narrow 
partisan, he was an able man, a hard worker and a good presid¬ 
ing officer. 

The panic of 1837, which was attributed to the party in 
power, brought about Whig ascendency. In Congress, the New 
Jersey delegation, which contained five members whose seats 
were contested, held the balance of power. If the names of these 
five members were included in the first roll call, the Whigs would 
elect the Speaker; otherwise, the Democrats. Garland, the “Hold 
over” Democratic clerk of the House, planned to omit the names 
of the members whose election was contested, although they had 
the usual credentials. For several days great excitement pre¬ 
vailed. At last John Quincy Adams presented a motion to order 
the clerk to call the names of those persons from New Jersey 
wffio could show credentials from the Governor of that State. To 
the question who should put the motion, Adams responded: “I 
intend to put the question myself!” In the midst of the cheers 
of its members the House was organized, and the attempt of 
Garland to prostitute the procedure to political expediency was 
thw r arted. 


61 


The 29th Congress assembled on the first of December, 1845. 
Polk’s cry of ‘‘54—40 or fight” had touched the martial chord in 
the popular heart. Davis, of Indiana, was elected Speaker. A 
war programme was mapped out, days in advance. The Presi¬ 
dent’s message was distinctly a war document. The Speaker s 
committee on Military Affairs had already prepared a bill de¬ 
claring war with Mexico. 1 he previous question was demanded 
and the debate closed; and thus a second war originated in the 
Speaker’s power to name the members of committees. 

The next Speaker was Robert C. Winthrop, of Mass., a 
man in every way qualified to preside. When elected, Winthrop 
was but 38 years old, but he had acquired a national reputation 
as a presiding officer while Speaker of the Massachusetts General 
Assembly. His early career promised high political honors, but 
his views on the slavery question were not sufficiently radical to 
satisfy his constituents, and, at the age of forty-two, he retired 
from the arena. He had been, however, an ideal Speaker, and 
no man ever left the Speaker’s chair with a higher reputation for 
fairness and probity. 

When the House convened in 1847, Abraham Lincoln, of 
Illinois, was a member, and Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, 
entered the Senate on the same day. How little was it realized at 
that time what a great part was to be played by these two men and 
by the antagonistic systems of which they were the incarnations! 

The 31st Congress assembled on the 31st day of December, 
1849. Winthrop was again the Whig nominee for the Speaker- 
ship. Eight “Free Soilers,” however, declined to support Win¬ 
throp unless he would make certain pledges favorable to them. 
Winthrop declined the bargain. After 36 ballots he withdrew the 
further use of his name. The balloting proceeded until 62 votes 
had been taken without choice, and three weeks had been con¬ 
sumed in the contest. Howard Cobb was finally elected, a man 
of unquestionable ability but a pronounced partisan of slavery. 
He organized the committees in a manner overwhelmingly favor¬ 
able to Southern interests. The feature of the 34th Congress 
was the Kansas-Nebraska Act. How well I remember the Speak¬ 
ership contest of that period and how closely I followed it, 
though only a boy! One hundred and thirteen votes were neces¬ 
sary to elect a Speaker. Richardson, of Illinois, led on the Dem¬ 
ocratic side. All of the Anti-Nebraska factions united in the 
support of N. P. Banks, and on the thirty-eighth ballot he re- 


62 


ceived one hundred and eight votes. Despite most vigorous 
efforts his following seemed incapable of increase. On January 
12th the afternoon was set apart for ascertaining the views of 
the three principal candidates. The replies of Richardson, Fuller 
and Banks to the queries put by the House clearly disclosed the 
sentiments of the different sections of the country. Richardson 
advocated without reserve the Douglas theory of popular sov¬ 
ereignty ; Fuller held that neither Congress nor the territories had 
power to prohibit slavery within their limits; Banks declared 
that he would favor a congressional prohibition of slavery in 
all the territories where such legislation was necessary to keep it 
out. Gradually it became apparent that the one hundred and 
eight voters for Banks could not be drawn from their allegiance. 

Orr, of South Carolina, was now brought forward as the 
Democratic candidate, but he was no more successful than 
Richardson. Aiken, of the same State, then became the candidate. 
Immediately after the reading of the Journal on the 2nd day of 
February, Smith, of Tennessee, moved that if three further bal¬ 
lots should not result in a decision, then, on the fourth ballot, the 
member receiving the largest number of votes should be declared 
Speaker. This vote was carried, Smith and his allies believing that 
Aiken would certainly be elected. On the one hundred and thirty- 
third roll call—the one to be decided by a plurality—the Clerk 
of the House announced the votes in clear tones—‘‘Gentlemen: 
The following is the result of the one hundred and thirty-third 
vote: Banks 103, Aiken 100, Fuller 6, Campbell 14, and Wells 1.” 
Nathaniel P. Banks was thereupon declared the Speaker of the 
House amid howls of rage and derision mingled with cheers of 
victory. Thus ended the most sensational contest for the election 
of a Speaker that the halls of the House have ever witnessed. 
Two months had been exhausted in balloting; threats of dissolu¬ 
tion had been uttered by sensational Southerners, but in general 
they had been discredited. The election of Banks was a great 
victory for freedom, but the victory was an ominous one. For 
the first time the Speaker of the House had been elected without 
material support from both sections of the country. Banks made 
an excellent Speaker, but he entertained the moderator theory 
of the Speakership and therefore added nothing of consequence 
to the evolutionary augmentation of the office. Not one of his 
decisions was overruled, and to this day he is regarded as one of 
the best Speakers in the history of the House. 


63 


On the 7th of December, 1855, the House convened for the 
last time in the small elliptical chamber which is now Statuary 
Hall. Dickens thus described the appearance of this Hall when 
he made his first visit to the United States: “It is a beautiful 
and spacious hall of semicircular shape, supported by handsome 
pillars. One part of the gallery is appropriated to the ladies, 
where they sit in front rows, and come and go out, as at a play 
or concert. It is an elegant chamber to look at but a singularly 
bad one for all purposes of hearing. The house is handsomely 
carpeted but the state to which these carpets are reduced by the 
universal disregard of the spittoons, with which every honorable 
member is accommodated, and the extraordinary improvement 
on the pattern which had been squirted and dabbled upon in every 
direction, does not admit of being described. It is strange enough 
to see an honorable gentleman leaning back in his tilted chair, 
shaping a convenient plug with his penknife, and when he was 
quite ready to use it, shoot the old one out of his mouth as from 
a popgun and clap the new one in its place. I was surprised to 
learn that even steady, old chewers of great experience are not 
always good marksmen.” A visit to the Virginia House of Bur¬ 
gesses, half a dozen years ago, satisfied me of the probable truth¬ 
fulness of this description in every detail. 

On the 15th of December, 1859, the 36th Congress convened 
again in Washington. The John Brown tragedy had just been 
enacted. Party lines had now become sectional. North of the 
Mason and Dixon line Democrats were relegated to private life, 
while in the South, Partisanship was in the saddle. On the first 
ballot for Speaker, John Sherman was the leading Republican 
candidate. Clark, of Missouri, offered a resolution that no one 
who had endorsed or recommended “Helpers Book”, called the 
“Impending Crisis”, was fit to be Speaker of the House. Help¬ 
ers Book was published in 1857 and a cheap edition was gotten 
out for gratuitous distribution. This had been endorsed by mem¬ 
bers of Congress, Sherman among others. Helpers Book 
maintained that the abolition of slavery would advance the ma¬ 
terial prosperity of the South by introducing manufacturing, thus 
increasing the value of land and providing a larger market for 
farm products. It argued that the Slave Holders maintained 
their power by encouraging the ignorance, not only of the negroes 
but of the poor whites. Thaddeus Stevens declared: “These 
things must come out and they might as well come out now.” 


64 


Southern members flaunted their challenge in the faces of the 
North. Bitter personal taunts were indulged in. Personal en¬ 
counters were threatened. Southern members carried weapons 
and many of the Northern members felt compelled to follow 
their example. The moral battle that preceded the war was on, 
the pickets were called in and the signal for advance was given. 
The twenty-fourth ballot was taken Jan. 4, i860. Sherman still 
lacked three votes. He never came nearer than that to the 
coveted prize. On the 30th of January he formally withdrew his 
name. The candidate then brought forward was Pennington, of 
New Jersey, a new member. On the first day of February, after 
a battle that had raged for eight weeks, he received one hundred 
and seventeen votes, exactly the number needed. The Democrats 
were aghast and even the Republicans were surprised. They had, 
indeed, hoped to be ultimately successful through the adoption 
of the plurality rule, as in the case of Banks, whereas Pennington 
had obtained a clear majority of the votes. It is said of Penning¬ 
ton that he contributed no strength to his office, but he had the 
honor of being the last Speaker elected before the war, which now 
rapidly came on. 

Galusha A. Grow was the first Speaker of the war period. 
He had divided with Sherman the votes of his party in the 
Speakership contest of the preceding session. Sherman was 
now in the Senate, and the field was open for the advancement 
of Grow. He was a man of firm decision and keen discernment, 
—the “Alter-ego” of Thaddeus Stevens who lashed on the de¬ 
bates on the floor of the House. Grow is said to have been the 
first Speaker to take part in discussions on the floor when the 
House was not in Committee of the Whole. Thus he became 
the first speaker of the new era, the era marked by the growth of 
the Speakership subsequent to the war. 

Schuyler Colfax followed Grow. Colfax was a skilled par¬ 
liamentarian and his personal popularity was unbounded. In 
that respect he ranked with Henry Clay. Thaddeus Stevens was 
still the leader of the House and still wielded the lash of authority. 
Colfax took a prominent part in debate, as Grow did before him, 
even when the House was not in Committee of the Whole. It 
is no part of my duty to dwell upon his personal faults, and I 
therefore pass over that period of his career in which he was 
convicted of receiving bribes, for which he might possibly have 
been forgiven, if he had not followed up this ofifense by false- 


65 


hood, which the people would not forgive. Some one has said: 
“The American people makes heroes of its great men, but it has 
no mercy for its shattered idols.” 

On the fourth of March, 1869, James G. Blaine, of Maine, 
was elected Speaker. Perhaps Blaine is entitled to be considered 
the greatest Speaker after Clay. Perhaps it is not too much to 
say of him that for a long time he was looked upon by his ad¬ 
mirers as the typical American. He had a genius for politics. 
To him politics was a game to be played, a machine to be oper¬ 
ated. Indeed his career of leadership in Congress fell in years 
when little was called for beyond party management. He looked 
upon his task as that of keeping the Republicans in power, and 
the Democrats out of control. Blaine did not escape unscathed 
from the charges of corruption that fell thick about him. The 
“Credit Mobilier” scandal did not pass him by, and, in connection 
with the renewal of the land grant for the Little Rock and Fort 
Smith Railroad, he proved himself, “No Dead-head,” as he him¬ 
self declared. Everyone remembers the “Mulligan Letters” and 
the unfortunate smirch which they left upon the career and 
memory of Blaine. One would have thought Blaine would have 
added more to the growth of the power of the Speaker. He 
manipulated the rules to assist his party, and the minority was 
sometimes aghast at the unceremonious treatment they received. 
He had audacity and aggressiveness and the dashing qualities 
of a spirited leader. He wielded the powers of his office to help 
on his Presidential candidacy, but it can hardly be said that he 
carried his aggressiveness so far as to become conspicuous as a 
builder up of the Speaker’s power. The abuses which surround¬ 
ed the assertion of the rights of the minority had not reached 
the climax of later years and did not call for the drastic remedy 
which Reed afterwards applied. Blaine’s personal popularity 
was something amazing. On the closing day of the session, 
March 3rd, 1875, Blaine pronounced his valedictory as Speaker, 
—a wonderful speech full of fire and magnetism. The applause 
which followed was like a peal of thunder. Two years later 
Blaine closed his career as Speaker of the House and entered 
the Senate. He afterwards became Secretary of State under the 
Harrison administration, and though he never intermitted his 
efforts to secure the Presidency, he terminated his career, which 
began as a politician, with a generally recognized reputation as 
statesman. 


66 


Kerr, Randall, Keifer and Carlisle followed. Kerr was an 
able parliamentarian though an intense partisan. The House 
had passed into the control of the Democrats. Kerr did not sur¬ 
vive his term of office, but left a creditable memory. 

Samuel J. Randall, of Pennsylvania, was elected to the un¬ 
expired term of Kerr. Randall imitated Clay and Blaine by im¬ 
pressing his own personality upon the House. He was, on the 
whole, fair-minded toward his political opponents, but never 
able to forget the interests of his own party. During the great 
Hayes-Tilden controversy Randall rebuked filibustering, over¬ 
ruled dilatory motions and guided the House with a firm hand 
through the billows of debate and of controversy manifestly in¬ 
tended for delay; Randall stated: “The Chair rules that when 
the Constitution of the United States directs anything to be done, 
or when the laws under the Constitution of the United States, 
enacted in obedience thereto, direct any act by this House, it is 
not in order to make any motion to obstruct or impede the execu¬ 
tion of that injunction of the Constitution and the Laws.” In¬ 
stantly the Speaker was assailed with expletives from his 
own party, but he stood firm as a rock. It is said that the day’s 
session was probably the roughest ever experienced in any Amer¬ 
ican Legislative Body. The title to the Presidency trembled in 
the balance. The Democrats were determined. Randall was 
equally determined, though opposed to his own party. James 
Munroe, one of the Republicans, has thus described the scene: 
“He (the Speaker) was subjected to a strain upon voice, and 
nerve, and physical strength such as few men could have en¬ 
dured. At times he was visited with storms of questions and 
reproaches. Would he not entertain a privileged motion? He 
would not! Would he not put a motion for a recess ? A motion 
for the call of the House? A motion to excuse some member 
from voting? A motion to reconsider? A motion to lay some¬ 
thing on the table? He would not! Were these motions not in 
order under the rules? They were. Would he not submit some 
of them to the House? He would not! Was he not then an 
oppressor and a despot? He was not! Would he not put some 
dilatory motion ? He would not! Why would he not ? Because 
of his obligation to the Law. When at last the disorder increased 
and the clamour became vociferous, Randall declared firmly that 
he would submit no longer to the disorder. “If gentlemen forget 
themselves,” he said, “It is the duty of the Chair to remind them 


67 


that they are members of the American Congress.” It is hardly 
too much to say that it was the firm hand of Samuel J. Randall 
that prevented the Hayes-Tilden contest from developing into 
civil war. Among the great Speakers the name of Randall 
should not be overlooked. 

In the election of 1880, the Republican majority in the House 
was restored and Keifer, of Ohio, became Speaker. Keifer was 
a stalwart of the anti-slavery, anti-southern type, but his parti¬ 
sanship lacked consistency and aggressiveness. His weakness 
was manifest in the nondescript character of his committees. He 
was easily influenced; to-day moved by one faction and to¬ 
morrow by another. But there was at least one thing in his ad¬ 
ministration calculated to attract attention. He came little short 
of accomplishing the reform with which Reed, a decade later, 
startled the nation. He ruled that the constitutional right of the 
House to determine the order of its proceedings cannot be im¬ 
paired by the indefinite repetition of dilatory motions. This was 
the first and most decisive step towards stamping out filibuster¬ 
ing. It is said that he was prepared and determined to count a 
quorum of persons who were present on a roll call, but failed 
to vote. It is said also that Reed and Kasson and other leading 
republicans declared that they would not support the Speaker on 
an appeal from such a ruling. He was, therefore, forced to 
abandon a plan, which, if carried into effect, would have entitled 
him to the plaudits bestowed at a later day upon Reed himself. 

As early as 1879 it was felt that the rules and practice of 
the House had become intolerable. Under Blaine and Randall, 
filibustering had been encouraged rather than treated with dis¬ 
favor. The situation was rendered still worse by the Holman 
amendment authorizing general legislation in the annual appro¬ 
priation bills. This, however, centered legislation in the hands 
of a small number of favorites of the Speaker,—men of whom 
the Speaker never lost control. There can be no question that 
the Speaker’s power was thus augmented. 

John G. Carlisle, of Kentucky, served as Speaker from 1883 
to 1889—three successive terms. Carlisle was a man of great 
ability but was thought to be too sensitive to public opinion. His 
committees were formed with the intent of securing a reduction 
in the tariff, although he was unable, until his third term, to 
force a tariff bill through the House. His theory of administra¬ 
tion was that a Speaker should so shape his committees and so 


68 



distribute the favors of recognition as to advance a definite 
legislative policy, but he made practically no effort to check fili¬ 
bustering, and without imposing such a check upon the ob¬ 
structive tactics of the minority he could not make his theories 
effective in legislation. Under Carlisle, filibustering was carried 
on to such an extent as to deserve the description “Filibustering 
run mad.” The papers declared that a single member on the 
floor might play the role of Caesar just as well as the Speaker 
himself. Weaver, of Iowa, blocked all business for nearly two 
weeks by proposing in alternate succession two or three motions, 
immediately offering another when one was voted down. The 
country was disgusted with these dilatory tactics, as the next 
election demonstrated. Carlisle afterwards became Senator, then 
Secretary of the Treasury under Cleveland. In finance he advo¬ 
cated the “Gold Standard,” and became thereby so unpopular in 
Kentucky, where he had previously been adored, that he decided 
to move back to New York and practice law. Carlisle, when 
Speaker, prepared the country to welcome the “Iron-clad” policy 
of Reed. 

When December 2nd, 1889, arrived, the Republicans had 
been out of power in the House for fourteen years. In the re¬ 
action from Congressional imbecility the party of Carlisle no 
longer dominated and Thomas B. Reed was elected Speaker of 
the House. 

Reed was certainly a remarkable man. It has been said of 
him that he combined happily the wit and sarcasm of Disraeli, 
the scholarship of Roseberry, and the sturdiness and stubborn¬ 
ness of Gladstone. His power of sarcasm was seldom surpassed. 
Of the Senate he said: “It is a nice quiet sort of a place where 
good Representatives go when they die.” Another epigrammatic 
utterance was his definition of a statesman as a “Successful poli¬ 
tician that is dead.” He seldom delivered a prepared speech. 
His success was largely due to his personality, his inimitable 
drawl, his sparkling wit and his ready knowledge. A born de¬ 
bater, he delighted in the hand-to-hand conflicts of the House. 
In one debate, Finley, of Ohio, insisted on receiving a reply to 
a question which he had asked. Reed quickly discomfited the 
intruder, adding, “Now, having embalmed that fly in the liquid 
amber of my discourse, I will proceed.” Peals of laughter fol¬ 
lowed from all over the House. 


69 


When Reed became Speaker his party majority was only 
eight,—too small for safety. The majority must be increased. 
Several Democrats were unseated and Republican contestants 
were seated with celerity. I greatly fear some injustice was 
done. Meanwhile, the Speaker postponed the report of the Com¬ 
mittee on Rules, administering the code of general parliamentary 
law. The most effective weapon of obstruction employed by the 
Democrats was the old-fashioned method of refusing a quorum. 
The Democrats insisted that, although corporeally present, they 
were absent in a parliamentary sense. This caused an explosion 
which came January 29th, 1890. On that day the Republicans 
answered to their names, but the Democrats, although they had 
demanded the “Yea and Nay,” sat serenely silent. Reed, hav¬ 
ing counted those who were present and did not answer to their 
names, announced the vote. Consternation and confusion 
reigned. Members rushed madly about the floor. The House 
was lashed into a tempest. The Democrats exhausted the vo¬ 
cabulary of vituperation. “Tyrant!” “Czar!” “Despot!” were the 
epithets hurled at the Speaker. Reed sat serene and confident. 
“I deny the right of the Speaker to count me present!” shouted 
McCreary of Kentucky; to which Reed replied, “The Chair 
simply stated the fact that the gentleman from Kentucky ap¬ 
pears to be present; does he deny it?” An appeal was immedi¬ 
ately taken from the Speaker’s decision, but this appeal was laid 
on the table by a majority—not of the House, but of a counted 
quorum. The same method was employed on the following 
morning. 

The Democrats now resorted to corporeal absence. Mem¬ 
bers dodged under their desks and scrambled for the doors; 
thereupon the Chair ordered the doors bolted. Kilgore, of Texas, 
kicked open a door and effected his escape from the chamber. 
The tension of a state of war prevailed. The door-keepers were 
instructed to exercise vigilance. It is impossible for persons 
who did not witness the scene to imagine the tumult and con¬ 
fusion that reigned. Reed’s rulings of the 29th and 30th of 
January startled the country. They were, however, well sus¬ 
tained by legal precedents. Speaker Sanford had ruled a similar 
way in the Massachusetts House. In Illinois, the Courts had 
declared that “There is no propriety in giving to a refusal more 
potency than to a vote cast.” The Superior Court of New Hamp¬ 
shire had ruled the same way, and in Indiana, the Superior Court 


/O 


had held: “It is not conceivable that their silence should be 
allowed greater force than their active opposition.’’ As recently 
as 1883, David B. Hill, of New York, had made a similar ruling 
in the State Senate, and this had been upheld by the Courts. The 
same rulings had been made in Ohio, Kentucky and Tennessee, 
and later on, the constitutionality of Reed’s ruling, as a method 
of determining the presence of a quorum, was sanctioned by the 
Supreme Court of the United States. 

Under the Constitution, a majority of the members of the 
House constitutes a quorum. If the margin of political ascend¬ 
ency is small, a majority composed of the dominant party cannot 
always be kept upon the floor. On numberless occasions the re¬ 
fusal of a quorum had been the most effective measure that 
could be adopted by a political minority. The ruling of Reed 
put an end to this practice. At one time in his administration, 
when the Democrats resorted to filibustering to the extent of 
complete withdrawal from the floor of the House, Congressman 
Walker, of Massachusetts, had a photograph of the House taken 
for distribution and gave one of them to myself. A glance at 
it tells the whole story. 

Dilatory motions were also employed as weapons of obstruc¬ 
tion. To multiply motions and amendments to motions and call 
the yeas and nays upon each, had long been an effective means 
of paralyzing legislative action. An endless chain of amend¬ 
ments and roll calls would be launched, and the House would be 
helpless. This, also, Reed put an end to. 

Unlimited oratory was another means of obstruction often 
resorted to, and all of these methods were set in motion in the 
determination to down Speaker Reed. The rules commonly 
known as “Reed’s Rules” were adopted on the 14th of February, 
1890. These rules,—reported by a committee consisting of Reed, 
McKinley and Cannon,—were as follows: 

1. All members must vote, unless they have a pecuniary 
interest in the question at issue. 

2. The dignity of the House and the rights of the members 
are given precedence over every question but a motion to adjourn. 

3. One hundred shall constitute a quorum in the Committee 
of the Whole. 

4. Members present, but not voting, may be counted as a 
part of the quorum in any ordinary session of Congress. 

5. No dilatory motion shall be entertained by the Speaker. 


71 


Upon the promulgation of these rules the cry of rage was 
renewed against the Speaker. The fourth and fifth produced a 
storm of hostile invectives. Reed was the “Assassin of Demo¬ 
cratic government, the despoiler of the Constitution!” The sacred 
rights of the minority were championed by men who stood ready 
to trample under foot the rights of the majority. But the death- 
knell of filibustering had been sounded. The threat of the Dem¬ 
ocrats, with which the session had begun, that they would permit 
no legislation of which they did not approve, became as sounding 
brass. When asked what he would have done if the House had 
refused to support his rules, Reed replied: “I would simply 
have left the Chair, resigned the Speakership, and left the House, 
resigning my seat in Congress. If political life consists in sitting 
in the Chair and seeing the majority powerless to pass legisla¬ 
tion, I have had enough of it and am ready to step down and 
out.” One writer, speaking of Reed’s course, says: “During 
the entire six years of Reed’s service as Speaker, no reputable 
man ever questioned his absolute integrity or honesty, nor was 
there ever a single occasion when he refused to entertain any 
motion offered in good faith.” The same writer says: “Even 
under the oppressive Reed rules, there was ample opportunity 
for debate. The most conclusive answer to the argument that 
debate would be strangled is found in the fact that the Congres¬ 
sional Records show that there was more debate in the 51st than 
in any preceding Congress. In fact, the application of these 
rules has actually enlarged the principle of freedom of debate. 
The time formerly consumed in dilatory roll calls and filibuster¬ 
ing is now largely devoted to legitimate discussions.” The same 
writer adds: “Through all these trying days of conflict, his iron 
will never faltered.” 

During this period the cartoonists made merry with “Czar” 
Reed. They pictured him with a crown upon his brow, wielding 
a sceptor, the fit symbol of his autocratic power,—and autocratic 
power it seemed at times. He permitted no smoking on the floor 
of the House. He ordered a member who removed his coat and 
spoke in his shirt sleeves to restore that garment to its place. 
Another member, who threw his feet, clad in white socks, upon 
a desk, one afternoon, was told: “The Czar commands you to 
haul down those flags of truce.” On one occasion, Breckenridge, 
of Kentucky, had paused in a speech of most mournful cadences. 
Reed exclaimed to Cannon, while holding his handkerchief be- 


72 


fore his eyes, ‘‘Joe, were you acquainted with the deceased?” 
Springer, of Illinois, once quoted Clay’s famous epigram, “I 
would rather be right than be President.” Reed’s answer came 
quickly: “The gentleman need not worry, for he will never be 
either.” Springer never wholly recovered from this shaft of ridi¬ 
cule. In the elections of 1890 the Democrats were successful and 
Reed became again the leader of the minority. During the two 
subsequent sessions, however, he served as Speaker. During his 
six years of service, never once did a breath of scandal touch 
him,—a remarkable record. 

Crisp, of Georgia, was elected Speaker December 7th, 1891. 
Of course the Reed rules were set aside;—party consistency de¬ 
manded that;—but he introduced a new parliamentary tyranny. 
The historian tells us that Reed’s rules seemed beneficient in com¬ 
parison with Crisp’s and that not even the question of considera¬ 
tion could be raised against the report of the Committee on 
Rules. 

On August 7th, 1893, Crisp was again elected Speaker. Two 
years before that, the Democrats had thrown overboard the Reed 
rules. Reed’s quorum-counting rule was now restored, slightly 
different in form, indeed, but precisely the same in its general 
character and in point of efficiency. So, too, the rule providing 
that one hundred members should constitute a committee of the 
whole, was restored. Thus, Reed as leader of the minority dur¬ 
ing the 53rd Congress, received the rare vindication of seeing 
his political opponents adopt the very system of rules for which 
they so scathingly denounced him. When the 54th Congress 
assembled, Reed was elected Speaker of a House that contained 
the largest Republican representation that, up to that time, had 
ever been returned. 

Carlisle, Reed and Crisp had each added largely to the evo¬ 
lutionary development of the Speaker. Carlisle had arbitrarily 
and effectively employed the right of recognition, and in 
so doing had made himself a power. Reed had stamped out fili¬ 
bustering. Crisp had built the Committee of Rules into an ef¬ 
fective weapon of power. Each had helped materially to estab¬ 
lish the great fact that a majority could do business. 

At the close of the 55th Congress on the 3rd of March, 1899, 
Reed withdrew from public life. He was succeeded as Speaker 
by David B. Henderson, of Iowa, who occupied the position for 
two terms. There was nothing in his administration calculated 


73 


to attract attention. While he was Speaker we recognize as 
members of the Committee on Rules the familiar names of Payne, 
Dalzell and Cannon. When his second term expired, he declined 
re-election, ostensibly because his views were no longer in har¬ 
mony with the views of his constituents. 

Since the close of the 57th Congress, the Speaker’s place 
has been occupied continuously by Joseph G. Cannon, of Illinois, 
who was elected November 9th, 1903. His service as Congress¬ 
man dated back to the time when Grant was President and Blaine 
was Speaker. He was first made a member of the Committee on 
Post-Offices and soon became an acknowledged authority on 
postal questions. He was best noted for his capacity for work, 
and his courageous indifference to public opinion. He scorns to 
“Quibble” and he has no sympathy with those who dissemble. 
Lincoln is his ideal of an American statesman. He is democratic 
in his tastes, abstemious in his habits and absolutely honest. A 
superlatively intense partisan, to him all things of Democratic 
origin are inherently culpable. He believes in a straight vote 
and feels only contempt for the man who scratches his ticket. 
He is temperamentally a conservative. As a public speaker, he 
is remarkable for common sense and earnestness. His voice is 
unattractive but his delivery is full of fire and suggests, at times, 
the blows of a bludgeon. His speeches make comparatively small 
impression when read, but their effective delivery carries with 
it power. He always impresses his audience with his sincerity 
and honesty. One writer has thus described his appearance 
when, at the Convention of 1908, he appeared on the floor to 
second the nomination of Sherman for Vice-President. 

“Clad in a black alpaca coat, the thin sleeves of which were 
held above his cuffs, with one leg of his wrinkled trousers caught 
on his shoe top, his vest unbuttoned, his hair touseled and thin 
arms waving, he made a remarkable speech, combining Biblical 
quotation with the vernacular of the street. His appearance 
aroused the convention to cheers of laughter and applause and 
secured for him a marked ovation.” 

His long and valuable service in the House, especially as chair¬ 
man of the Committee on Appropriations, led to his election as 
Speaker upon the retirement of Henderson. In securing his 
election his personal popularity was a powerful factor. He 
could call half the members by their first names. He was re- 


74 


garded as a prejudiced partisan and an indifferent parlia¬ 
mentarian, and few, at that time, recognized his real greatness. 

Cannon’s committee assignments are made with the view of 
securing legislative action in accordance with his own wishes. 
This, with the industrious use of the Committee on Rules, en¬ 
ables him to dominate at all times. No Speaker was ever more 
arbitrary in the use of the power of personal recognition, and 
his power is neither to be ignored nor resisted. His smile or 
frown makes or unmakes members. Until the recent amend¬ 
ments, even the committees were compelled to go before the 
Committee on Rules and secure a special order or rule in order 
to enable them to make a report. The following is a specimen 
order reported by the Committee on Rules and adopted during 
Cannon’s Speakership. 

“Resolved; that immediately upon the adoption of this reso¬ 
lution the House shall proceed to debate for a period not exceed¬ 
ing one hour the bill to further regulate commerce, with the 
amendments thereto recommended by the Committee on Inter- 
State and Foreign Commerce as set forth in their report on said 
bill; and at the end of the debate a vote shall be taken on the 
said amendments and on the bill to its final passage, without 
intervening motion.” 

This motion permits a single hour debate. It ignores amend¬ 
ments excepting those that may be offered by the committee, pro¬ 
hibits appeal, and prevents the presentation of any motion, even 
the privileged motion of adjournment. The greatest abuse of 
the function of this Committee on Rules is the presentation of 
orders prohibiting amendments. This has developed into a glar¬ 
ing evil. Even an appropriation bill must be adopted or rejected 
throughout; members must vote for the entire bill, or vote against 
it as a whole. 

Until the 6oth Congress, practically no bill came to the floor 
under Cannon except by unanimous consent, or on a special rule 
or order limiting the time of debate and regulating amendments. 
It is true that discussion and amendments were permitted in the 
Committee of the Whole House, but the final adoption of a 
measure by the House itself became a mere formality. 

The methods of legislation to-day (1909) in the House of 
Representatives, are believed to be the most arbitrary of any 
legislative body in the world. The personality of Cannon, to¬ 
gether with the development of the power of the Committee on 


75 


Rules, has brought about this result. Any measure which is de¬ 
nied a special order by the Committee on Rules is lost in the 
volume of other measures which have secured its recognition. 
To all this arbitrariness, Cannon puts up the defense that the 
majority rules, and he maintains this defense with religious 
fervor. His friends declare that the Committee on Rules is an 
evolution of, or a supplement to the old party caucus. Until 
Cannon, the theory prevailed that the majority always rules, 
but Cannon has been too frank to pay homage to such a pretense. 

Even before the opening of Congress, Cannon states frankly 
what legislation will be enacted and what bills will be defeated. 
The humor and picturesqueness of Cannon often serve to re¬ 
move the bitterness naturally consequent upon his conduct. On 
one occasion the response to a motion was a swelling chorus of 
“Ayes” followed by a few straggling “No’s”. “The ‘Ayes’ make 
the most noise, but the ‘No’s’ have it,” said Cannon. The vote 
was merely preliminary to a division on a roll call and the 
Speaker’s decision gave his party an opportunity to summon to 
the floor certain absent members, when the result was entirely 
satisfactory. On another occasion, when many of the Repub¬ 
licans were away from their seats, the Democrats called up a 
measure in which they were interested and proceeded as rapidly 
as possible to carry the measure to a vote. Cannon despatched 
messengers to summon the Republicans. Time being important, 
he allowed a third roll call in violation of all known principles. 
A dozen enraged Democrats came to their feet: 

“Why does the Chair call the roll the third time?” 

“The Chair will inform the gentlemen that the Chair is 
hoping a few more Republicans will come in.” 

The Democratic display of anger was lost in the volume 
of Republican laughter. One member, on being asked by 
a constituent for a copy of the rules and regulations of 
the House, sent him a picture of Speaker Cannon. In 
the midst of all this ascendency and arbitrariness Cannon 
has preserved wonderful popularity as an individual. Those 
who most criticise him as a legislative force, like him 
personally. Popular dissatisfaction and political unrest 
reached a climax during the last days of the 6oth, and 
the opening days of the 6ist Congress. Hopelessly defeated, the 
insurgents of the House centered their efforts upon securing 
a revision of the rules and proceedings. This action required 


76 


the rarest type of bravery. On the opening of the 6ist Congress, 
Cannon was re-elected for his fourth consecutive term. By a 
combination of Republicans with members of the minority 
several changes were secured. These changes were all in the 
direction of freeing the House from the arbitrary control of the 
Speaker. After all, they accomplished but little. True, they 
established a calendar for unanimous consent, the effect of which 
was to enable the members to bring a proposition before the 
House without having to consult the Speaker. On Calendar 
Wednesdays the roll of committees must be called. This gives 
a member an opportunity to demand consideration on any bill 
which is unfavorably reported. Probably the effect will be to 
make more bills expire in the committee instead of on the calen¬ 
dar. Then, too, the Speaker can no longer name the Committee 
on Rules, this function being discharged by a caucus of the domi¬ 
nating party. It is difficult, of course, to anticipate the probable 
result of an untried parliamentary procedure, but the fact that 
the Speaker still retains the power of naming all the committees 
except the Committee on Rules, leads to the logical conclusion 
that more bills will die in the committee. The conferring upon . 
a caucus of the power of naming the members of the Committee 
on Rules is likely to prove a meaningless remedy, for the 
Speaker who can command the majority for his nomination can 
usually dictate his confreres of the Committee on Rules—when 
elected by the same body. In short, the amendments to the 
present rules go but a very little way toward securing the inde¬ 
pendence of the members of the House. Nevertheless, these 
slight changes may mean the beginning of a real revision, and 
they constitute a change more marked than any since the Reed 
rules were adopted in the 51st Congress. 

Cannon’s ascendency, after all, is a personal ascendency in 
so far as he exercises power beyond that of previous Speakers. 

It is the personal force of the man himself, backed by the 
strength of the group of favorites about him, that has consti¬ 
tuted the chief element of his dictatorship. Only a most radical 
revision of the rules could destroy this condition of things which, 
however, could hardly exist for a day but for the confidence of 
the members of the House in the personal character of the man 
almost afifectionately called “Uncle Joe” Cannon. 

We have thus traced the evolution of the Speakership for 
over one hundred years. We have seen that the Speaker was at 


77 


first a mere moderator without the power of naming the com¬ 
mittees of the House; that at a very early day he was given the 
power of naming the committees; that this power was not em¬ 
ployed to secure definite legislation until Clay, as Speaker, so 
framed his committees as to force a war with England; that, for 
a time, even this power was administrative rather than political; 
that in another score of years the political power of the Speaker 
became manifest; that the rule authorizing the previous question 
dates back to the time of Clay; that the Speakers who presided 
over the House before the Civil War were, for the most part, 
men of only ordinary ability,—Clay, Banks and Winthrop being 
notable exceptions; that with the growth of the nation and with 
the centralization of its legislative powers and the increase in the 
membership of the House, the House itself became unwieldy; 
that this unwieldiness was emphasized by dilatory motions, fre¬ 
quent roll calls and the making of interminable speeches; that 
these weapons of obstruction became more and more effective 
as the size of the House continued to increase; that the refusal 
of a quorum early became an effective means of preventing legis¬ 
lation and thwarting the will of the majority, and that this re¬ 
mained the case down to 1889, when Thomas B. Reed was 
elected Speaker; that Reed with a single blow broke the shackles 
with which the turbulent minority had bound Congress hand and 
foot; that a tremendous storm of abuse and denunciation im¬ 
mediately followed, during which legislation was subjected to the 
tension of a state of war; that under Reed, as under some of his 
predecessors also, the Committee on Rules exerted a very great 
influence upon legislation; that with the exercise of the power 
of the Committee on Rules, the counting of the quorum, and the 
suppression of dilatory motions the majority, under Reed, came 
into the control to which it was entitled; that, under Cannon, not 
only has the minority come under the control of the majority, but 
the majority itself has come under the arbitrary dominion of the 
Speaker, so that the Speaker’s personal will is to-day authorita¬ 
tive and controlling. 

To-day the Autocrat of Congress possesses a degree of 
power scarcely inferior to that of the President. He is the 
arbiter of destiny to every member of Congress. Every mem¬ 
ber, however influential, must first consult the Speaker in order 
to obtain recognition. If his purposes meet with the Speaker’s 
approval consent may be given. In the old days of the republic 


78 


the members of Congress were mouth pieces for their constitu¬ 
ents ; such is no longer the case. Everybody recognizes the 
necessity for some selective control as imperative, but the method 
of administration employed at present is so arbitrary and so 
subject to the personal will of the Speaker that even the mem¬ 
bers of the majority find themselves held up and hampered and 
made into mere shadows of legislators. For the present there 
is no escape from this situation, as the present Congress has 
already elected Cannon for another term, but the feeling that is 
abroad, and finds expression both in and out of Congress, leads 
us to believe that some relief must be provided in the near future. 
Cannon is as defiant as ever in speech, but it would not be sur¬ 
prising if he should change his tone very materially during the 
present session. What is wanted is some method by which the 
majority may exercise control without itself being the helpless 
victim of the personal dominion of the Speaker. Either through 
Cannon or over Cannon the expected relief must come. 


79 


MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS 


Veterans of the Civil War :— 

Another of the ever-shortening years has gone its way, and 
Decoration Day again is with us. Again you have celebrated 
your beautiful service of flowers. On each soldier’s grave to¬ 
day the flag of his country tells a story of patriotic devotion, and 
flowers deposited by loving hands bear witness to the fragrance 
of a cherished memory. Flowers and the Flag,—symbols of all 
that is beautiful in nature and in the national life,—it is fitting 
indeed that they mingle their ministries on Decoration Day. 

How all our thoughts go back to-day! Can it be that forty 
years have passed since Lee surrendered at Appomattox! Can 
it be that forty years have gone since the destinies of our country 
trembled in the balance, and no one in all the land was wise 
enough to tell whether free government on this continent would 
succeed at last, or ignominiously perish! 

War is always a terrible evil, but the war of 1861 was not of 
your seeking, nor did your country seek it. The fagots of war 
were assembled before Lincoln was elected, and they had burst 
into flame before the inauguration ceremonies. War then became 
inevitable; there was no other alternative, unless men of prin¬ 
ciple should, in a day, become dastards. By a perversion of 
statesmanship, as fantastic as it was wrong, the Southern lead¬ 
ers had planned a confederacy based upon human bondage. In 
furtherance of their purpose, at which all the world stood aghast, 
they plotted war against their Government and your Government. 
Their disloyal purpose was carried into effect on that fateful day 
when Sumter was fired upon. Then you sprang to arms. It was 
not because you loved the excitement of battle, or sighed for mili¬ 
tary glory,—it was because you loved your country, and loved 
it better than your lives. You did not enter the army thought¬ 
lessly; you counted the consequences, and when you were sure 
that duty called you, you answered, with fixed faces: “Here am 
I! God help me! I cannot do otherwise.” In this spirit you 
fought; in this spirit you conquered; and in this spirit, I doubt 


80 


not, you find your highest happiness now that you recall your 
participation in the holiest war in the whole long course of his¬ 
tory. 

While we honor the bravery of the Grey, let it never be for¬ 
gotten that it was the Blue that fought along the lines of human 
progress; it was the Blue that honored loyalty, championed free¬ 
dom, preserved the Union, and deserved and received the blessing 
of Almighty God. 

The war for the Union came in the fullness of time. Had 
it come earlier the North might not have been adequately pre¬ 
pared for it. Clay and Webster have been censured for the Com¬ 
promise Measures of 1850; but whatever else may be said of 
those Measures, they certainly tended to postpone the inevitable 
conflict for ten long years; ten long educational years in which 
the anti-slavery sentiment of the North was gathering strength 
and pervasiveness, and the young men of the nation were being 
taught to cherish the sentiment: “Liberty and Union, now and 
forever, one and inseparable.” When i860 arrived, disunion was 
unthinkable, and slavery was only tolerated as a relic of bar¬ 
barism destined to be left behind in the race of human progress. 
Therefore, in i860 the fullness of time had come. The loyal 
hosts could then enter the lists with little fear of fatal opposition 
in the North, and, under God, with a rational expectation of 
final victory. 

Veterans, you had foemen worthy of your steel. No one 
honors you who underrates or understates the skill and courage 
of your opponents. You undertook a mighty task. That your 
inflexibility of purpose lasted throughout the four long years of 
war will be the wonder of coming generations. You never hoped 
to succeed through cowardice on the part of your adversaries. 
Joseph Wheeler and Fitzhugh Lee were the same brave men 
in the sixties that they were when afterwards, with joy unuttera¬ 
ble, they rallied to the support of the flag which they had once felt- 
compelled to dishonor. Where in military annals is anything 
braver than Pickett’s immortal charge, unless it be the defense 
and defiance which met those seasoned veterans at the Bloody 
Angle and won the day at Gettysburg. And so it was on every 
battlefield. It is a part of your glory, Veterans, that you won 
the victory over men who were every bit as valiant as yourselves, 
and who fought with a bravery worthy of a nobler cause. Who 
does not rejoice to-day that, as the result of your efforts, the 


81 


Blue and the Grey are again united and ready to vie with each 
other in all that pertains to devoted and valorous loyalty. 

Yes, your foes were skillful and vigilant and valiant, but let 
it never be forgotten that you were eternally right, and they were 
eternally wrong. They fought against human progress; your 
faces were radiant with the foregleams of a nobler future. They 
fought along lines that would have undone the work of Wash¬ 
ington; you fought that the Government which Washington 
founded might live and be a blessing when your children’s chil¬ 
dren should have passed away. They fought on lines that made 
the Constitution of their country an obstacle to human progress; 
you fought on lines that made that same Constitution the noblest 
product of constructive statesmanship that ever at any one time 
proceeded “From the brain and purpose of man.” They fought 
for Slavery; you for Liberty. They, for Secession; you, for the 
Union founded by the fathers and the hope of the human race. 
Therefore you have been enrolled in the proud ranks of those 
who have deserved well of their country and of mankind. 
Such is the verdict of impartial history,—a verdict that shall be 
unreversed till time shall be no more. 

Veterans, this is Memorial Day, and it is fitting that I 
should speak to you of the memorial services which I witnessed, 
last Fall, at Chattanooga. Let me tell the story briefly. We had 
been with Governor Chamberlain and his official party at St. 
Louis and were to return by way of Chattanooga, where a monu¬ 
ment to the 5th and 20th Connecticut regiments was to be appro¬ 
priately dedicated. We started back on Friday, and Saturday 
afternoon had been set apart for the services. Our party con¬ 
sisted of Governor Chamberlain, his staff, the other State offi¬ 
cers, two companies of Governor’s Foot Guards, some of the 
Connecticut officials at the Fair, the Monument Commissioners 
and invited guests. The delay of one of our trains compelled a 
postponement of the services until Sunday afternoon. Mean¬ 
while those who had arrived visited the summit of Lookout 
Mountain. As we stood on Point Lookout, the northernmost 
peak, Chattanooga lay nearly 2,000 feet below us, and the serpen¬ 
tine Tennessee came to the foot of the mountain almost vertically 
below us. Off to the east was Missionary Ridge, where the great 
battle of that name was fought and won. 

Sunday afternoon found us on the way to Orchard Knob, 
Grant’s headquarters during the battle of Missionary Ridge, now 


82 


owned by the Government and selected as the site of the Con¬ 
necticut Monument. Orchard Knob is two miles east of Chatta¬ 
nooga. As we started away the flag of Connecticut appropriately 
floated from the Governor’s carriage, and Old Glory was in evi¬ 
dence all along the way. The Foot Guards, in Grenadier uni¬ 
forms, made a fine appearance. The bands played patriotic airs. 
The procession, including carriages, was nearly a mile long. My 
heart exulted in the thought that all this was being done to honor 
the memory of Connecticut heroes, and I was proud of old Con¬ 
necticut; I was proud, too, of its pure and patriotic Governor. 
The road was dusty, but we did not know it. The day was 
beautiful, as it should have been. Arriving, we took our places 
upon an improvised platform, just opposite the monument, and 
looked abroad. Oh, the beauty and grandeur of the scenes that 
surrounded us! I wish I could picture them. Off to the right 
was Chattanooga, the Pittsburg of the South, its titanjfSc energies 
suspended, as if in honor of the occasion. Beyond and above 
and slightly to the south, Lookout Mountain lifted its lofty peak, 
and, with its eastern slope already enveloped in shadows, frowned 
like a mighty fortress upon the valley whose upturned beauty 
smiling in the September sunlight made it seemingly a Garden of 
the Gods. Far away to the southward along the horizon line 
stretched the broad valley between Lookout Mountain on the 
west and Missionary Ridge on the east, up which came Rosecrans 
when, carrying into effect his comprehensive strategem, he 
crossed the Cumberland Mountains and the Tennessee River 
and gave the Confederates the choice of fighting, or of abandon¬ 
ing Chattanooga, the stronghold of the South. 

You remember how Longstreet heavily reinforced Bragg 
just at that time, so that the battle of Chickamauga, which fol¬ 
lowed, was, in a sense, a drawn battle. Still, Chattanooga, the 
prize of victory, remained in loyal hands. You remember, too, 
how Thomas, at Snodgrass Hill, though confronted by over¬ 
whelming odds, stood his ground until night came down, and 
earned the proud title of “Rock of Chickamauga.’’ Well off to 
the southeast, just over the ridge yonder, was Snodgrass Hill. 
You remember, too, how Chattanooga was defended by Thomas, 
succeeding Rosecrans, until Grant came down and achieved the 
great victory of Missionary Ridge. Over there on the left was 
that same historic Missionary Ridge, up whose abrupt slopes 
five hundred feet in height, a large part of Grant’s army charged, 


83 


without orders, on that November day. Up the steep incline 
they went, defying shot and shell from Bragg’s batteries along 
the verge of the summit, urged by a common impulse born of the 
American soldier’s magnificent initiative; up they went, defying 
difficulty, danger and death, captured the batteries on the summit 
and gained a victory which, coming after Gettysburg and Vicks¬ 
burg, sealed the doom of the Confederacy. 

As I was saying, we had arrived at Orchard Knob. The 
monument was near the entrance to the Reservation. It was 
made of grey granite, and was something like 9 or 10 feet long 
and 8 feet high. Above a suitable inscription was the Coat of 
Arms of the State, and below were two crossed muskets. Around 
and above and below the monument the hillside was black with 
people who had come in a not unsympathetic spirit to witness 
the ceremony. 

Adjutant General Cole presided and introduced Captain 
Chaffer, formerly of the 20th Connecticut, who delivered an ad¬ 
dress worthy of the occasion. As one of the Commissioners ap¬ 
pointed to erect the monument, he turned it over to Governor 
Chamberlain, who, in a very appropriate speech, accepted the 
monument. The Governor in turn entrusted it to General Boyn¬ 
ton, who is in charge of all the Government Reservations around 
Chattanooga, and who replied appropriately. 

Then came a ceremony, which was not anticipated. Mrs. 
Chamberlain, wife of the Governor, originated the idea, and un¬ 
der her lead the ladies of the party proceeded around the monu¬ 
ment and deposited flowers upon its base. Everybody recognized 
the beauty and propriety of Mrs. Chamberlain’s contribution to 
the dedicatory services. 

It was now nearly night. A splendid sunset filled the west¬ 
ern sky; a new moon hung over Lookout Mountain. A pensive 
mood comes over us. We see the procession move again; the 
Governor enters his carriage; the Foot Guards are in motion; 
the band is playing “Onward Christian Soldiers,” and the pro¬ 
cession winds away, leaving the monument to tell its story to 
future generations. Filled with reflections, we return to the 
city, and seeking our train resume our homeward journey. 

Veterans, may this day, sacred to all loyal Americans, never 
cease to be celebrated! May its observance be as perpetual as 
the procession of the flowers! May the flag which you and your 
comrades saved in the hour of your country’s peril,—may the 

84 


old flag wave as long as new flowers grow! And may you, 
Veterans, who are still permitted, though your hairs are silvered, 
to decorate the grassy mounds where repose your brother heroes, 
—may you, and all of you, be made conscious from day to day 
of the gratitude for your great service which exists in abundant 
measure in the breasts of all good men, and deep down in the 
Nation’s heart. 


85 


FITZ-GREEN HALLECK 

In Alderbrook Cemetery, in the town of Guilford, Conn., 
stands an imposing obelisk bearing this inscription: 

One of the few—the immortal names 
That were not born to die. 

All well-read beholders recognize in this inscription the con¬ 
cluding couplet of Halleck’s “Marco Bozzaris,” the first Ameri¬ 
can poem to become widely known across the ocean; and thus 
the monument, even without the name inscribed upon it, suf¬ 
ficiently marks the spot as the burial place of Fitz-Green 
Halleck, Connecticut’s foremost poet and the first American 
poet of trans-Atlantic fame. He little thought, as he brought 
his finest poem to a climax, that its superb concluding lines 
would be chosen as the appropriate epitaph for his own tomb¬ 
stone. 

Marco Bozzaris was written in the year 1825. At that time 
Greece was engaged in a mortal struggle against the Turk. All 
the imagination, all the sentiment, all the culture of the world 
was with the little nation with a great history. The situation 
was such that whoever, anywhere, should nobly strike the tense 
cord of sympathy for Greece would have a world-wide audience. 
It was at this time that the story of Bozzaris came across the 
ocean. Bozzaris was a Grecian chieftain, who, with a handful 
of patriotic warriors, defeated and slaughtered a host of his 
country’s oppressors in a midnight encounter, surrendering his 
own life in the supreme moment of victory. Halleck was then 
a bookkeeper in Joseph Barker’s counting house in lower New 
York. Although a poet of considerable local reputation, he was 
little known abroad. The story of Bozzaris appealed to him and 
probably without realizing the splendor of his achievement, he 
made the story of Bozzaris the theme of a poem so charged with 
imagination, so full of heroic fire and feeling, so finished in 
point of literary form that it was at once recognized as a master¬ 
piece, not only throughout America but as far over land and sea 
as sympathy for Greece extended. An American poet had 
sounded a bugle note, heard around the world. A gifted son 
of our own Connecticut had attracted admiringly the world’s 


86 


attention, and had become the earliest American poet of ex¬ 
tended foreign fame. 

\es, An immortal name! ’ I said to myself while standing 
before the monument not long ago, but after all, a name. How 
did Halleck look?—I asked myself. I could not answer. I 
glanced over the portraits of the poets that were hung in the 
hall of my memory. There were Emerson—Longfellow— 
Bryant—Whittier—and half a hundred others, all with features 
clear cut and distinct; but in the place where Halleck’s portrait 
should have hung was little more than a shining frame. What 
did he write besides Marco Bozzaris, and what were some of the 
leading events of his life? The answer which came back was 
such that I resolved to know more about Halleck; hence this 
paper. 

I had even forgotten, if I ever knew, what interesting cere¬ 
monies accompanied the dedication of the monument I was 
gazing upon. I had forgotten how sylvan Guilford, where the 
poet lived in his youth and age, and metropolitan New York, 
where he spent the middle period of his life, had vied with each 
other in honoring the poet’s memory; how poets, authors, 
editors, statesmen, lawyers, farmers and financiers,—friends and 
admirers all,—had assembled for the same purpose; how Oliver 
Wendell Holmes composed, expressly for the occasion, his beauti¬ 
ful poem: “Say not the Poet Dies”; how Bayard Taylor de¬ 
livered a brilliant oration in which he attempted to describe 
Halleck’s relative place among American poets, likened his 
poems to strains blown from a silver trumpet, breathing mainly 
fire and courage, and declared that he deserved every honor that 
could be rendered to his memory, not only as one of the very 
first representatives of American song, but for his intrinsic 
quality as an American poet. 

Biographies of notable men usually call for a pre-natal chap¬ 
ter, and Halleck’s case presents no exception. He was descended 
on both sides from Puritan ancestry; on his father’s side, from 
Peter Halleck, who came from England to New Haven in 1640; 
on his mother’s side, from John Eliot, translater of the Bible 
into the Indian dialect. Peter Halleck went from New Haven 
to the eastern part of Long Island. Some generations later, the 
poet’s grandfather moved to New York State, where his father, 
Israel, was born. At the close of the revolutionary war Israel 
Halleck settled in Southhold, Long Island, where his ancestors 


87 


had formerly lived and been prominent. Later on, finding him¬ 
self in the West Indies, he returned homeward in a vessel bound 
for Guilford, where he met and married Mary Eliot, and estab¬ 
lished a permanent residence; there, his son, Fitz-Green Halleck, 
was born. We read of this Israel Halleck, the poet’s father, 
that he was a general favorite, a man of charming manners, one 
of nature’s noblemen. 

Historians tell us that Rev. Joseph Eliot, son of John Eliot, 
settled in Guilford. His descendant, Mary Eliot, the poet’s 
mother, was of the fifth generation from her first American 
ancestor, the missionary to the Indians. She was a woman of 
fine intellect and passionately fond of poetry; so fond, indeed, 
that we cannot be surprised at the outcropping of the vein of 
poetry in her gifted son. She appreciated and fostered his poetic 
genius, and to this cause is, perhaps, to be ascribed his youthful 
propensity for making verses which, though immature, gave 
promise of the future that was to be. 

The poet was born July 8th, 1790. It is said that as soon 
as he began to write he began to rhyme. His early life was that 
of a quiet, studious boy. He loved to wander along the rocky 
borders of the Sound, or in the woods with which Guilford was 
surrounded, carrying a volume of poetry—Thomas Campbell 
always having the preference. His teachers were his favorite 
companions, and they often rambled together talking of poetry 
and the poets. One of his teachers gave him a copy of Camp¬ 
bell’s “Pleasures of Hope,” which he read and re-read, and cher¬ 
ished as beyond price. Doubtless he memorized Campbell’s 
poems without conscious effort, as in mature life he was accus¬ 
tomed to vindicate Campbell’s poetry on the ground that it was 
always quotable and could not be forgotten. In speaking of 
these days Halleck said to a friend: “I fastened like a tiger upon 
every romance and collection of poetry that I could lay my hands 
on.” 

Although a romantic and poetic boy, Halleck’s nature had 
another side. He early learned the art of bookkeeping, and his 
mastery of figures was that of an expert. He went into the 
store of Andrew Eliot, an uncle, at the age of fifteen, keeping 
books of account which were remarkable both for their legibility 
and accuracy. In his seventeenth year he taught arithmetic, 
writing and bookkeeping, at the same time indulging in his 
fondness for romance and poetry. 


88 


In 1811, at the age of twenty-one, Halleck left home for 
New York. He appears to have been animated by a desire to 
see the world. His skill as a bookkeeper was to be the key with 
which he would unlock the gates of success. His mental equip¬ 
ment, as he left home to encounter the obstacles that were to 
beset his way, was certainly unique. Poetry and Romance seemed 
to dominate his whole nature, and yet he was noted for care and 
accuracy in that most prosaic of all occupations—Commercial 
Bookkeeping. Jacob Barker, a prominent banker, gave him 
employment in his counting room, and he remained the trusted 
accountant and cashier, first of Jacob Barker and afterward of 
John Jacob Astor, until he returned to Guilford to spend his 
declining years. 

I wish it were possible for me to sketch the New York of 
Halleck’s younger manhood. It was the New York of Irving, 
and of Cooper, and of Bryant—Bryant, who after writing 
Thanatopsis, found his way, like Halleck, to New York, and 
who became the great editor of the “Evening Post,” as well as 
one of America’s leading poets. New York, rather than Boston, 
was then the center of literary activity. The Atlantic monthly 
was yet to be, and likewise Boston’s great galaxy of thinkers and 
poets who, later on, were to make their bows to an almost idoliz¬ 
ing constituency. The city was huddled about the Battery. John 
Jacob Astor lived in an uptown house near where the old Astor 
House now stands. The beautiful waters of the bay were un¬ 
vexed by the paddles of steamboats. White sails everywhere 
dotted its surface. The wooden prows of packet ships parted 
the waves on their way southward to the sea, and sunbeams, un¬ 
obstructed by trailing clouds of murky smoke, glistened along 
the waters of the encircling harbor. 

In his longest poem, Halleck describes the scene as he saw 
it from Weehawken, his favorite out-of-town resort. The poet 
places before us a climber of the cliff, and paints a poetic picture 
of the scenery that enchants his vision. 

In such an hour he turns, and on his view 

Ocean and earth and heaven, burst before him; 

Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue 
Of summer’s sky in beauty bending o’er him— 

The city bright below; and far away 
Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. 


89 


Tall spire and glittering roof and battlement 
And banners floating in the sunny air; 

And white sails o’er the calm blue waters bent, 
Green isle and circling shore are blended there 
In wild reality. When life is old 
And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold 


Its memory of this; nor lives there one 

Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood’s days 
Of happiness were passed beneath the sun, 

That in his manhood’s prime can calmly gaze 
Upon that bay, or in that mountain stand, 

Nor feel the prouder of his native land. 

The “Tall spire” of Halleck’s day now crouches at the base 
of the sky scraper; and of the “Green Isle” that captivated the 
poet’s vision, nothing green remains excepting the snatched acres 
of Central Park. 

The poet, at first a bookkeeper, was soon promoted to a 
confidential position. Choice friends were drawn to him by his 
lovable nature and strict integrity. Of course his life was very 
inconspicuous, and the history of a year varied but little from 
the history of a day. He was fond of social life and soon won 
a welcome into all circles which had attractions for a brilliant 
and whole souled gentleman. 

After something like a year in New York he returned to 
Guilford for a visit. It seems strange to read that he rode home 
in a stage, and that his return trip occupied twenty hours. Steam¬ 
boats had not yet navigated the Sound, and railroads were hardly 
dreamed of. Even a poet would think it a hardship if, at the 
present time, it took more than two or three hours to go from 
New York to Guilford. 

During the whole of the time he was in New York, Halleck 
kept up a correspondence with his sister Maria, who remained 
in Guilford, and his letters, preserved by her, afford an insight 
into the uneventful life of a man about town whose tastes were 
always refined, and who divided his time between his business— 
bookkeeping, and his pastime—poetry. 

He returned to Guilford to reside in the year 1849, where, 
until his death in 1867, he lived with his sister, both unmarried,— 
his sister surviving him three or four years. 


90 


Halleck’s biographer tells us that his first poem published 
in New York appeared anonymously in a paper called the “Co¬ 
lumbian,” December 2nd, 1813. Of this poem the editor says: 
“The following lines possess such singular beauty and excellence 
that we almost doubt their being original. The future favors of 
our correspondent, we hope, will remove all suspicions on the 
subject.” The poem begins: 


When the bright star of peace from our country was clouded, 
Hope fondly presaged it would soon reappear; 

But still dark in gloom the horizon is shrouded, 

And the beacon of war blazes direfully near. 

Fled now are the charms which the heart once delighted, 
Forgot the enjoyments tranquility gave; 

Every flow’ret is withered, each blossom is blighted, 

But the wreath that encircles the brow of the brave. 


The second war with England was going on when this poem 
was written. Halleck, like many of his companions, joined the 
Iron-Greys, a company of light infantry which never had the good 
or ill fortune of being called into action. While in camp, Halleck 
composed an ode which created great enthusiasm, although its 
author was for a long time unknown. To a friend who read it 
in camp with fine elocution, Halleck said: “Why, Charlie, I had 
no idea I was a poet until last night, when you repeated my 
lines.” 

The treaty which closed the war was signed in December, 
1814, and with this treaty closed the first fourteen years of the 
nineteenth century. Of this period Halleck said to a friend: 
“It is impossible for me to describe to you the delight with which, 
at that period, we read and committed to memory whole pages 
of Scott’s lyrical romances. I think I could repeat one-half of 
the ‘Lady of the Lake,’ and quite as much of ‘Marmion’. Then 
we had Campbell’s ‘Pleasures of Hope,’ Roger’s ‘Pleasures of 
Memory,’ Moore’s sweet ‘Melodies,’ Miss Porter’s ‘Scottish 
Chiefs’ and ‘Thaddeus of Warsaw,’ Hannah More’s ‘Coelebs in 
Search of a Wife,’ and Miss Edgeworth’s charming novels. A 
little later there appeared ‘Waverly,’ ‘Guy Mannering,’ and ‘The 
Antiquary,’ producing a widespread enthusiasm throughout 
Great Britain and this country, which has probably never been 


9i 


equalled in the history of literature. During the same period 
nothing worth naming had been produced on this side of the 
Atlantic, with the exception of Irving and Paulding's 'Salma¬ 
gundi' and Knickerbocker’s 'New York.’ Nearly all the writers 
who gave tone and power to American literature were then 
young and unknown to fame. The new era dated from 1815, 
for it was after that time that James and Maria Brooks, Bryant, 
Cooper, Channing, Dana, Drake and Hillhouse entered upon 
their literary careers.” If the name of Halleck were to be added 
to the list given in the last sentence, I should be unable to point 
to a more condensed and truthful description of the literary 
work of the first fifteen years of the nineteenth century. 

About this time Halleck met Joseph Rodman Drake, with 
whose name his fame was thereafter to be intimately associated. 
There is hardly anything so attractive in literary history, and so 
altogether sweet and alluring as the friendship and literary 
alliance between Halleck and Drake. Alas, that it was so soon 
to be ended by the death of Drake, and that Halleck was so soon 
to pour out his soul in that choicest bit of elegiac poetry begin¬ 
ning: 


Green be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my better days! 

None knew thee but to love thee, 

None named thee but to praise. 

One publisher substituted the word "Sod” for the word 
"Turf,” and another substituted the word "Grass” in the same 
place. Halleck, whose sense of the ridiculous was ever present, 
remarked: "I have no doubt they will yet make it, ‘Green be the 
PEAT above thee!’ ” 

When the two young poets met in 1813, Drake was still in 
his teens and Halleck but a little older. Halleck chanced to re¬ 
mark that it would be heaven "To lounge upon a rainbow and 
read Tom Campbell.” Drake was delighted with the sentiment, 
and a friendship at once sprang up which death alone could 
sever. When Drake was married, Halleck was groomsman. 
Drake's only child was christened Halleck. When Drake sick¬ 
ened, Halleck watched over him, and when Drake died, it was 
Halleck who said, with a great sob in his heart, "There will be 
less sunshine for me hereafter.” In a letter to his sister Halleck 


92 


described Drake as “Perhaps the handsomest man in New York, 
having a face like an angel and a form like Apollo;” and then he 
declares that his person “Is a true index of his mind.” What 
Halleck said of Drake, Drake would doubtless have said of 
Halleck, poetically extravagant though the language would have 
been as applied to either. But making all allowance for affec¬ 
tion and imagination, they were both brilliant in mind, with 
physical attributes to match, and we are to think of the two 
young poets as superbly fitted to shine in the social and literary 
life of the metropolis. Professor Fowler, author of the “Life 
of the Poet Percival,” after meeting Halleck, describes him as 
“A man of the world, polished and fashionably dressed, fresh 
from foreign travel, of warm manners, ready sympathies, fasci¬ 
nating address, and graceful conversation.” Singularly enough, 
I recently stumbled upon a letter of Longfellow, written in 1841, 
in which he says: “I had the pleasure of seeing Halleck at 
breakfast with me on Monday morning, with Sumner, Felton, etc. 
I did not know he was in these regions until Saturday morning. 
He is a glorious fellow, certainly.” We might well dismiss the 
subject of Halleck’s personal worth with this verdict of Long¬ 
fellow pronouncing him “A glorious fellow, certainly.” 

In 1819 Drake and Halleck created a great literary sensa¬ 
tion by publishing a series of amusing verses under the nom de 
plume of “The Croakers.” The name Croaker was adopted from a 
character in one of Goldsmith’s comedies. The Croaker verses 
were published in the New York Evening Post, and it is said that 
the installments were waited for with as much eagerness as war 
bulletins in the time of war. It is almost impossible for us of 
this day to realize the sensation which the merry-making poets 
produced. For several months the public was kept in a blaze of 
excitement and neither Knavery nor Folly slept quietly after the 
publication had fairly begun. Of course the authorship was 
kept secret. Halleck wrote to his sister April 1st, 1819: “Can 
you believe it, Maria, Joe and I have become authors? We have 
tasted all the pleasures and many of the pains of literary fame 
and notoriety, under the assumed name of ‘The Croakers’. We 
have had the consolation of seeing and of hearing ourselves 
praised, puffed, eulogized, execrated, and threatened as much, I 
believe I can say with truth, as any writer since the days of 
Junius. The subjects are, many of them, purely local, 


93 



and will, of course, be unintelligible to you. They are well un¬ 
derstood here, however. Joe has not yet returned, and, having 
now set the whole town in a blaze, I have thought best to give 
them a ‘Resting spell’ for a while.” 

Halleck’s first Croaker poem, “Bony’s Fight,” well enough 
illustrates all the series. 



BONY’S FIGHT. 

When Bony fought his host of foes, 

Heroes and generals arose 

Like mushrooms when he bade them; 
Europe, while trembling at his nod, 

Thought him a sort of demi-god, 

So wondrous quick he made them. 

But ‘every dog must have his day,’ 

And Bony’s power has passed away, 

His track let others follow; 

Yet in that talent of the Great 
With dash of goose-quill to create, 

Our Clinton beats him hollow! 

Alas! thou little god of war, 

The proud effulgence of thy star 
Is dimmed, I fear, forever; 

Though bright thy buttons long have shined, 
And still thy powdered hair behind 
Is clubbed so neat and clever. 

Yet round thee are assembled now 
New chieftains, all intent as thou 
On hard militia duty; 

Here’s King, conspicuous for his hat, 

And Ferris Pell, for—God knows what! 

And Bayard, for his beauty. 

These are but colonels—there are hosts 
Of higher grade, like Banquo’s ghosts, 

Upon my sight advancing; 

In truth they made e’en Jackson stare. 

When in the Park, up-tossed in air, 

He saw their plumage dancing. 

Yet I should wrong them not to name 
Two Major-Generals, high in fame, 

By heaven! a gallant pair! 

(They haven’t any soldiers yet), 

His Honor, General by brevet, 

Bogardus, brevet Major. 


94 



Should England dare to send again 
Her scoundrel red-coats o’er the main, 

I fear some sad disaster; 

Each soldier wears an epaulette, 

The guards have turned a capering set, 

And want a dancing-master. 

Sam Swartwout! where are now thy Grays? 

Oh, bid again their banner blaze 
O’er hearts and ranks unbroken! 

Let drum and fife your slumbers break, 

And bid the devil freely take 
Your meadows at Hoboken! 

The intimacy of this relationship between Halleck and Drake 
is shown by an incident connected with Drake’s poem “The 
American Flag”. As originally written, it is concluded with four 
lines entirely different from those with which we are familiar. 
It seems that not being satisfied with his own lines, Drake asked 
Halleck if he could better them. Halleck immediately wrote and 
Drake immediately accepted the concluding lines as they now 
stand in the published poem: 

“Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 

With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom’s banner streaming o’er us!” 

In 1819, in the early part of which the Croaker poems were 
published, Halleck wrote his longest poem, called “Fanny.” This, 
too, was published anonymously, and attracted a great deal of 
attention as well as unbounded admiration. Halleck relates how 
on one occasion he was suspected of being its author. He was 
at a gathering of some sort where the poem was the subject of 
much talk and commendation. Halleck says: “On entering the 
supper room, I was honored by the stare of every eye, and 
seemed to attract as much attention as a Hottentot Venus.” 

“Fanny” was a great favorite of John Randolph. Its 
vogue was once very great indeed, but it is so full of allusions, 
direct and indirect, to current topics and to public men of the 
day that its popularity has of course waned with the lapse of 
time, but it abounds in flowing verse and wit and gentle satire, 
and it is easy to imagine that its praise was once upon every lip. 
Its authorship was ascribed, from time to time, to different liter- 


95 


ary men, and Halleck enjoyed the bewilderment produced by the 
suppression of the author’s name. It will be recollected that the 
description of the view from Weehawken, which I have quoted, 
is taken from this poem. 

In the year 1822, the poet went abroad—in a Packet Ship, 
of course,—and had a quick voyage of twenty-one days. The 
return voyage took about seventy! He seems to have visited 
places rather than persons, and his biography gives us glimpses 
of the visits which he paid to localities that interested him. One 
fine day he found himself visiting Alnwick Castle, the historic 
home of “The Percy’s Highborn Race,” in the North of England. 
The visit seems to have filled his mind with the scenes and events 
of its historic story. Until long after midnight he was writing 
with a pencil a rough draft of what many regard as his most 
beautiful poem. One writer says of it: “It is a gem, and con¬ 
tains a spirit of unadulterated chivalry which the true poet alone 
can picture for us.” It is certainly doubtful if any American 
poetry can be found which presents a finer picture than the fol¬ 
lowing : 


Gaze on the Abbey’s ruined pile: 

Does not the succoring ivy, keeping 
Her watch around it, seem to smile, 

As o’er a loved one sleeping? 

One solitary turret gray 

Still tells, in melancholy glory, 

The legend of the Cheviot day, 

The Percy’s proudest story. 

That day its roof was triumph’s arch; 

Then rang from aisle to pictured dome 
The light step of the soldier’s march, 

The music of the trump and drum; 
And babe, and sire, the old, the young, 

And the monk’s hymn, and minstel’s song, 
And woman’s pure kiss, sweet and long, 
Welcomed her warrior home. 


As we read this stately poem, the days and scenes of feudal 
splendor reappear; we dream again of knights and queens of 
beauty, and we listen in imagination to the war music of a 
thousand years ago. 


96 


The poet Poe, after quoting the passage beginning: 

Wild roses of the Abbey towers 

Are gay in their young bud and bloom: 

They were born of a race of funeral-flowers 

That garlanded, in long gone hours, 

A templar’s knightly tomb. 

said it was “Gloriously imaginative,” and that he “Would be at 
a loss to discover its parallel in all American poetry.” 

Halleck seems never to have had an adequate appreciation 
of his own efforts. He almost always published anonymously. 
Even when he produced Marco Bozzaris, he passed it to one of 
his associates with the question: “Will'this do?” He seems to 
have had an almost cynical indifference to renown. There can 
be no doubt that he expressed his true feelings when, in a poem 
called “The Recorder,” he wrote: 

I rhyme not for posterity, 

Though pleasant to my heirs might be 
The incense of its praise 
When I, their ancestor, have gone, 

And paid the debt—the only one 
A poet ever pays. 

But many are my years, and few 
Are left me ere night’s holy dew 
And sorrow’s holier tears will keep 
The grass green where in death I sleep. 

And when the grass is green above me 
And those who bless me now and love me 
Are sleeping by my side, 

Will it avail me aught that men 
Tell to the world with lip and pen 
That once I lived and died? 

No: if a garland for my brow 
Is growing, let me have it now 
. While I’m alive to wear it; 

And if, in whispering my name, 

There’s music in the voice of Fame, 

Like Garcia’s, let me hear it. 

The personal reference in the last line is a delicate compli¬ 
ment to Garcia, the gifted Melba of the musical stage in Hal- 
leck’s day. 

Another characteristic of Halleck’s mind was the keen sense 
of the ridiculous, which seems to have been the companion of 
his most serious thoughts, never far away and causing him to 


97 


v 


see a humorous side in everything. As early as 1831, a magazine 
writer said: “So readily does he slip from grave to gay, that if 
ever he begins a piece in a serious and penseroso style, you may 
be pretty sure that he will fall into his comic vein before he gets 
through.” In one of his noblest poems, “Alnwick Castle,” this 
characteristic is carried to an extent that is even distressing. In 
a stately strain he described the home of “The Percy’s Highborn 
Race,” reproducing with all the hues of old romance the scenes 
and days when feudal banners flouted the sky above princely 
towers; then suddenly shifts the scene and describes the modern 
market town of Alnwick. After a hundred lines or so of as 
beautiful poetry as ever came from human lip or pen, the poet 
continues: 


I wandered through the lofty halls 
Trod by the Percys of old fame, 

And traced upon the chapel walls 
Each high, heroic name; 

From him who once his standard set 
Where now, o’er mosque and minaret, 
Glitter the Sultan’s crescent moons; 

To him who, when a younger son, 

Fought for King George at Lexington. 

A major of dragoons. 

That last half stanza—it has dashed 

From my warm lips the sparkling cup; 
The light that o’er my eyebeam flashed, 

The power that bore my spirit up 
Above this bank-note world—its gone; 

And Alnwick’s but a market town, 

And this, alas! its market day, 

And beasts and borderers throng the way; 
Oxen and bleating lambs in lots, 
Northumbrian boors and plaided Scots, 

Men in the coal and cattle line; 

From Teviot’s bard and hero land, 

From royal Berwick’s beach of sand, 

From Wooler, Morpeth, Hexham and 
N ewcastle-upon-Tyne. 


Then follow more verses in a serio-comic strain. I confess 
I was shocked when first I came upon this abrupt transition. It 
seemed to me unworthy of the poet, and I have never been able 
to overcome my first impression. The effect of the poem is that 


98 


of a vase partially completed by a consummate artist and after¬ 
ward finished with an utterly different ideal of beauty. The 
parts of the vase might each be beautiful if seen apart, but the 
effect of the combination would be incongruous and distressing. 
Such, to me, seems Alnwick Castle, although I read and re-read 
the first part of it with an ever increasing sense of its almost 
incomparable beauty; and the rest is delightful if read at another 
sitting. 

Another instance of this disposition to dart from the beauti¬ 
ful to the comic occurs in the poem “Fanny.” I have already 
quoted from that poem Halleck’s description of New York Har¬ 
bor as seen from Weehawken Heights. The stanzas I have 
quoted are followed by two others of the comic order. 

“This may be poetry, for aught I know,” 

Said an old unworthy friend of mine, while leaning 

Over my shoulder as I wrote; “Although 
I can’t exactly comprehend its meaning. 

For my part, I have long been a petitioner 
To Mr. John McComb, the Street Commissioner, 

That he should think of Weehawk, and would lay it 
Handsomely out in avenue and square; 

Then tax the land and make the owners pay it, 

(As is the usual plan pursued elsewhere) ; 

Blow up the rocks, and sell the wood for fuel— 

’Twould save us many a dollar, and a duel.” 

Halleck’s celebrated tribute to Burns is, in form, an address 
to a wild rose plucked near Alloway Kirk and kept by the poet 
until withered. Alloway Kirk was near the birthplace of Burns 
and thither our poet made a pilgrimage. It is said that Halleck 
considered his “Burns” as his finest poem. No one can fail to be 
moved by its manly tone and graceful flow of tenderness and 
feeling. To me, also, it sometimes seems the flower of Halleck’s 
genius, that is to say, in hours when I am not compelled by a 
voice within to give the first place to Marco Bozzaris. It is said 
that the sister of Burns regarded it as the finest tribute to her 
brother in the English language. Let us read a few stanzas: 

There have been loftier themes than his, 

And longer scrolls, and louder lyres, 

And lays lit up with Poesy’s 
Purer and holier fires: 


99 


» > y 


Yet read the names that know not death; 

Few nobler ones than Burns are there; 
And few have won a greater wreath 
Than that which binds his hair. 


His is that language of the heart, 

In which the answering heart would speak; 
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, 
Or the smile light the cheek; 

And his that music, to whose tone 

The common pulse of man keeps time, 

In cot or castle’s mirth or moan, 

In cold or sunny clime. 



And who hath heard his song, nor knelt 
Before its spell with willing knee, 
And listened and believed, and felt 
The poet’s mastery. 


And Burns, though brief the race he ran, 

Though rough and dark the path he trod, 
Lived—died—in form and soul a Man, 

The image of his God. 


Through care, and pain, and want, and woe, 
With wounds that only death could heal,— 
Tortures the poor alone can know, 

The proud alone can feel;— 


He kept his honesty and truth, 

His independent tongue and pen, 

And moved in manhood as in youth, 

Pride of his fellow-men. 

Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, 

A hate of tyrant and of knave, 

A love of right, a scorn of wrong, 

Of coward and of slave; 

A kind, true heart, a spirit high 

That could not fear and would not bow 
Were written in his manly eye 
And on his manly brow. 

Praise to the bard! his words are driven, 

Like flower-seeds by the fair winds sown, 
Where’er beneath the sky of heaven, 

The birds of Fame have flown. 






Halleck’s idea of the nature of poetry is interesting. He is 
represented as saying: “They are still trying to define poetry. 
It can be explained in a word; it is the opposite of reason.” This 
definition he illustrated by the following lines from Wordsworth: 

Armor, resting on its walls 

On the blood of Clifford calls. 

“Quell the Scot!” exclaims the Lance; 

“Bear me to the heart of France!” 

Is the longing of the Shield; 

Tell thy name! thou trembling field; 

Field of death, where’er thou be, 

Groan thou with our victory! 

“There,” said Halleck, “Was ever anything more irrational 
than the lance exclaiming, and the shield longing! But what 
poetry it is!” 

Although an ardent lover of his own country, Halleck was 
not in sympathy with her institutions. In private conversation he 
championed monarchy as against republicanism, and in the sphere 
of religion he was so fond of the imposing ceremonies of the 
Catholic Church, that a discussion arose after his death in which 
it was strongly maintained that he was a Roman Catholic. How¬ 
ever, he was buried from the little Episcopal Church in Guilford, 
and the evidence is very conclusive that his love of Catholic 
ceremonies was, like his love for monarchy, a thing of sentiment 
only. It seems to have been merely an outcropping of the ro¬ 
mantic vein in his nature, and perhaps came from the teachings 
of his father, who was a Royalist during the Revolution. 

The venerable poet, Richard H. Dana, writing to a friend in 
August, 1866, and speaking of Halleck, said: “I have seen him 
but twice, and that, years back,—oh, dear, how many!—the first 
a mere call; the second, at dinner at Bryant’s. After dinner he 
and I talked monarchism, with nobility, and a third order, enough 
to prevent despotism—nothing more. Bryant sat by, hearing us. 
‘Why,’ said he, ‘You are not in earnest?’ ‘Never more so,’ was 
our answer.” Some maintain that he championed these opinions 
to excite a discussion, but the evidence seems to be conclusive 
that he really entertained the opinions which he so frequently 
expressed, and it must be confessed that republicanism, both in 
state and church, makes a much stronger appeal to cold and 
passionless reason than it does to the romantic nature and the 
warm poetic spirit. 


IOT 


Although Halleck was a model of faithfulness in his ca¬ 
pacity as accountant and confidential adviser of men con¬ 
nected with business, he was always out of sorts mentally with 
whatever savored of the commercial life, and the same was true 
of his mental attitude toward politics. In a beautiful poem en¬ 
titled “The Poet’s Daughter” he says, with more than a trace of 
bitterness: 


’Tis a new world—no more to maid 
Warrior or bard is homage paid; 

The bay-trees, laurels, myrtles shade 
Men’s thoughts resign; 

Heaven placed us here to vote and trade, 

Twin tasks divine. 

Halleck lived a long time, yet the period of his poetic fer¬ 
tility was very brief, scarcely more than a dozen years. His 
poems differ to such an extent in point of excellence that critics 
assign to him a very high or a comparatively low rank, accord¬ 
ing as they select this or that production upon which to base an 
estimate. Indeed, I sometimes seem to recognize two Hallecks; 
Halleck of the Parnassian Heights, his genius taking possession 
of his soul and making of poetic composition a spontaneous and 
splendid achievement; and the Halleck of the Countinghouse, 
wooing a more reluctant muse and producing verses always full 
of verbal melody, but of a secondary and perhaps ephemeral 
value. Perhaps the Halleck of the Heights was seldom moved 
upon to string and tune his lyre, and without a doubt the 
Halleck of the Countinghouse was disinclined to multiply his 
efforts. A small volume suffices for all his published poems, and 
some of these his own critical judgment would have excluded. 
His noblest poems can almost be counted upon the fingers. But 
not on that account should he cease to be held in high honor as 
a poet. No one denies to Gray the laurels of a great poet; yet 
his poems were probably less in number than Halleck’s, and his 
“Elegy in a Country Churchyard” is almost his only guaranty 
of enduring fame. It can hardly be deemed unfortunate that 
Halleck wrote at a time when the pecuniary rewards of verse- 
making did not tempt him to multiply his poems at the expense 
of his poetry. If he had lived at the present time, and had been 
less the true votary of his art, his verses might, perhaps, have 


102 


filled many volumes instead of one, but would he ever have 
written the stirring ode to Bozzaris, the beautiful tribute to 
Burns, or the stately lines of Alnwick Castle? 

In order to judge Halleck’s poetry aright, we perhaps should 
have in mind his age, and the relationship of his poetry to that 
which preceded it. Prior to 1820 American poetry seldom rose 
to mediocrity. Bayard Taylor declares that before the “Croaker” 
and “Fanny” there was no American poetry that was not “Pom¬ 
pously solemn or coarsely farcical.” The stilted lines and studied 
wit of Barlow, and such as he, afforded no suggestion of the 
flowing grace and rich imaginative quality which made all true 
lovers of poetry fix their gaze upon the rising star of Halleck. 
Bayard Taylor says of Marco Bozzaris (and here it will be 
noticed that he relegates even the brilliant Drake to the limbo 
of inferiority), “This poem is as far above Drake’s “American 
Flag” or indeed any poetry which up to that time had been writ¬ 
ten in this country, as refined gold is above its sordid imitation.” 

But, after all, do we really need to compare Halleck’s poetry 
with that of his predecessors to establish its standing? I must 
be allowed to think otherwise. I cannot but regard his Marco 
Bozzaris as a cut cameo of the imagination, a gem worthy of all 
admiration even when tested by the standards of absolute poetry, 
without the aid of comparison with the productions of an earlier 
day. Perhaps this poem as well as any other illustrates my 
reference to the Halleck of the Parnassian Heights. It is im¬ 
possible to think of this poem as a manufactured thing. It has 
its origin in that creative energy which moves upon the poet’s 
soul when a poem of immortal worth is to be given to the world. 

Have we ever read Marco Bozzaris in such a way as to note 
its splendors ? Are we not swept forward by its dramatic energy 
until we are oblivious to its beauties; as in modern traveling we 
are swept across the landscape without beholding its scenery? 
Why not curb the impetuous energy of the poem and study it 
for a moment? 

The poem consists of three incomparable pictures, then an 
apostrophe, then a panegyric. These sub-poems, for such they 
are, are put together with an artist’s felicity of selection and 
arrangement. Poetic touches everywhere kindle the imagina¬ 
tion, and the poem grows in strength and beauty until the patriot 
hero is borne on wings of triumphant song to the Heaven of the 
immortal few. 


103 


First comes the fadeless picture of the tented Turk dream¬ 
ing at midnight his illusive dreams. We can no more forget the 
first line than we can forget Campbell’s “On Linden when the 
sun was low.” The self centered spirit of the ambitious Turkish 
warrior is graphically portrayed that it may bring out by com¬ 
parison the patriotic aspirations of the Greek compatriots. 

Then a flash-light of the poet’s imagination uncovers to us 
the second picture,—The Suliote Band. 

True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 

We hold our breath as we gaze upon the almost unearthly 
scene in which midnight is mingled with a purpose to do and 
die. With what poetry are we reminded how the glad earth 
drank the Persian blood: 

On old Plataea’s day. 

And with what expectancy we read: 

And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 

With arm to strike and soul to dare 
As quick, as far as they. 

The phrase “Haunted air” referring to the spirits of the 
heroic dead who fought upon the same field where their sons are 
preparing to give battle is, as Poe said of another of Halleck’s 
poems, “Gloriously imaginative.” A glimpse only is given us 
and then the midnight curtain falls upon the picture of Bozzaris 
and his band assembled in battle array and ready to emulate the 
deeds of their ancestors in behalf of Greece and Liberty. 

In the third picture we have the battle scene in which the 
overwhelmed and dying Turk hears: 

Bozzaris cheer his band: 

“Strike!—till the last armed foe expires; 

Strike!—for your altars and your fires; 

Strike!—for the green graves of your sires; 

God—and your native land !” 

At this point the poetry, without losing its own character, 
passes over into oratory, and what oratory it is! For nearly 


104 


three generations it has been the “Pons asinorum” of young 
speakers. Unless the three-fold adjuration of the Grecian hero 
kindles true oratorical fire, the youthful aspirant is barred out 
of the class of Clay and Webster, at once and finally. What 
pathos is then condensed into the two lines: 

They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 

The three pictures—the Dreaming Turk, the Suliote 
Band, and the Battle Scene—are now succeeded by the noble 
apostrophe to Death. The poet would sing for us a new song 
upon the theme: “It is sweet and beautiful to die for one’s 
country.” But his art requires that he should first paint death 
with all the horrors which it brings into the sphere of customary 
life. This he does in the stanza beginning: 

Come to the bridal-chamber, Death! 

and ending with the lines moving slowly as a funeral proces¬ 
sion : 


The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier; 

And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony are thine. 

The background is now complete against which the poet 
would describe the way in which Death is welcomed by the hero 
when his sword: 

Has won the battle of the free. 

In that glad hour the death summons is as: 

.Welcome as the cry 

That told the Indian Isles were nigh 
To the world seeking Genoese. 

When the land wind, from woods of palm 
And orange-groves and fields of balm, 

Blew o’er the Haytian seas. 

Was there ever a finer comparison or finer poetic melody 
than this passage presents. The poet selects the one occasion in 
all history in which ecstasy of welcome is at its highest, and with 
that compares the welcome which the conquering hero gives to 


105 



death in the cause of his country’s freedom; and the verbal 
melody of the language which he employs is as soft and sweet 
as lute music stealing outward from beyond the veil. 

The poem closes with the noble address to Bozzaris: 


“Bozzaris! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory’s time, 
Rest thee!—there is no prouder grave 
Even in her own proud clime.” 


“For thee her poet’s lyre is wreathed, 

Her marble wrought, her music breathed; 
For thee she rings the birthday bells; 

For thee her babe’s first lisping tells; 

For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace-couch and cottage-bed; 

Her soldier, closing with the foe, 

Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; 


His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 

Thinks of thy fate and checks her tears; 

And she, the mother of thy boys, 

Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys; 

And even she who gave thee birth 
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh: 

For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s; 

One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not bom to die.” 

I cannot prolong this paper to dwell upon other poems. 
There is the poem “Twilight,” written while going up the Sound 
to Guilford by moonlight, and breathing a spiritual beauty which 
the poet never surpassed. There is “The Vision of Eliphas,” 
paraphrased from Job, and written when he was only nineteen. 
There is “Gertrude of Wyoming,”—full of allusions to Camp¬ 
bell’s beautiful poem, and itself equally beautiful; “Red Jacket,” 
—a poem written on looking at the portrait of the Red Chief of 
the Tuscaroras; “Lines written on the death of Lieutenant 
Allen,”—a beautiful tribute to one of the Nation’s heroic dead; 
“Connecticut,”—a poem of nearly forty stanzas, celebrating the 
scenery and institutions of his native State; and others I would 
like to mention did not time forbid. 


106 



In closing, I would sum up what I have to say as to Halleck’s 
personality in the words of Longfellow: “A glorious fellow in¬ 
deed !” And I would bid you accept Poe’s estimate of his best 
poems as “Gloriously imaginative.” Connecticut ought to be 
proud of her foremost son of song, and his countrymen every¬ 
where should hold him in higher honor than they seem to do in 
these commercial—I will not say degenerate—days. 

Ten years after the monument in Alderbrook cemetery was 
erected, a bronze statue of Halleck was unveiled in Central Park, 
New York. William Cullen Bryant presided on that occasion; 
the President of the United States unveiled the statue, and Wil¬ 
liam Allen Butler delivered an oratorical tribute to the poet. For 
that occasion, also, Whittier composed a poem, and I cannot 
better close this paper than with a few of its beautiful lines on 
Fitz-Green Halleck. 

In common ways with common men 
He served his race and time 

As well as if his clerkly pen 
Had never danced to rhyme. 

If in the thronged and noisy mart 
The Muses found their son, 

Could any say his tuneful art 
A duty left undone? 

He toiled and sang, and year by year 
Men found their homes more sweet, 

And through a tenderer atmosphere 

Looked down the brick walled street. 

The Greek’s wild onset Wall Street knew, 

The Red King walked Broadway, 

And Alnwick Castle’s roses blew 
From palisades to Bay. 

Our lips of praise must soon be dumb, 

Our grateful eyes be dim; 

O brother of the days to come 
Take tender care of him! 

New hands the wires of song may sweep, 

New voices challenge fame, 

But let no moss of years o’er-creep 
The lines of Halleck’s name. 


T07 


SOME REASONS FOR BIBLE STUDY 


In attempting to give some reasons for studying the Bible, 
perhaps it will be best to speak first of those lesser reasons which, 
though not to be wholly despised, are relatively insignificant. 

In the first place then, it is hardly respectable to be ignorant 
of the Bible. Without a fair knowledge of the sacred scriptures 
a man is hardly on a par with mankind in general. The Bible 
is not a book for scholars only. In every walk of life men and 
women are met whose memories are stored with its sacred truths 
and precious promises. The Bible is woven into the very fabric 
of civilization. A knowledge of it is called for on a thousand 
occasions in a thousand connections. To be unfamiliar with its 
oft quoted passages is not merely to come short of being an 
educated man; it is rather an evidence of downright ignorance. 
To be ignorant where knowledge is not expected may be excusa¬ 
ble, but to be ignorant where every one is expected to be fairly 
well informed is a very different thing. Let me illustrate: Two 
or three days ago, I read in a paper the following: 

“In one of his old speeches Sir Wilfred Laurier quoted from the 
book of Ruth the beautiful passage ‘Entreat me not to leave thee/ etc. 
Col. Sam Hughes came across the speech recently, and Ruth’s speech 
charmed him. He recited it in the Dominion House of Commons and 
wondered where the premier found it. ‘It is not from Shakespeare/ he 
said. Mr. Chricholm begged to differ; the quotation was from Shake¬ 
speare. Courteous and canny Sir Wilfred didn’t say a word.” 

Charles Dudley Warner has said: “The Bible is the one 
book that no intelligent person who wishes to come in contact 
with the world of thought, and to share in the great ideas of the 
great minds of the Christian era, can afford to be ignorant of.” 

But enough of this particular reason for studying the Bible. 
It certainly ought to have weight with all who seek the respect 
of their fellow men, and yet it is incomparably the weakest rea¬ 
son of all that I shall urge. 


108 


The Bible is a vast store-house of information; that is 
another reason for studying it. How little should we know of 
what pertains to the dawn and development of early history 
without the Bible! A few exhumed inscriptions might give us 
a few isolated and unrelated facts, but even then, without the 
Bible for a setting, the inscriptions would be too fragmentary to 
be of much value. The stories of Jacob and Joseph, of Saul and 
Samuel, of David and Jonathan and a hundred other Bible char¬ 
acters,—how would the world be bereft if they were blotted 
out! There is no substitute for the Bible as a storehouse of in¬ 
formation relating to ancient history and biography, to the birth, 
growth and decay of the ancient nations, and to the careers of 
patriarchs, judges, kings and prophets. 

Even Huxley, agnostic though he was, in closing his eulogy 
of the Bible says: “And finally, it forbids the veriest hind who 
never left his village to be ignorant of the existence of other 
countries and other civilizations, and of the great past stretching 
back to the farthest limits of the oldest nations of the world.” 

No one can afford to be ignorant of the information fur¬ 
nished in the books of the Bible, least of all any son of New 
England, whose history would be colorless indeed but for the 
part which the scriptures played in framing its institutions and 
in training its people. 

Again, the Bjble is a library of unsurpassed literature. It 
is a collection of sixty-six books; not a single book, unless a 
single binding makes it one book. The motto “E pluribus Unum” 
applies to it,—“Many in one.” Said Edmund Burke: “The 
Bible is not a book but a literature, and indeed an infinite col¬ 
lection of the most varied and the most venerable literature.” 

Sir William Jones declares: “The scripture contains more 
exquisite beauty and finer strains of poetry and eloquence than 
could be collected from all the other books that were ever com¬ 
posed in any age or any idiom.” 

One must have a sluggish soul indeed, not to be uplifted by 
the sublimity of Job and Isaiah and the Psalms; not to relish the 
sweet and noble poetry in which the beauty of holiness is por¬ 
trayed upon its pages; not to be swept onward by Paul’s im¬ 
petuous eloquence; not to be melted to tears, at Heaven-appointed 
times, by the tender pathos of the words of Jesus. If you wish 
to learn the secret of genuine eloquence, live with the Bible. If 


109 


you wish to acquire an ornate and effective style, study the liter¬ 
ature of the book our fathers taught us to revere as the Book 
of Books,”—the Bible. 

It was Ruskin who said that to his early knowledge of the 
Bible he owed the best part of his taste for literature and the 
most precious part of his education. 

Daniel Webster, whose reply to Hayne closes with the sub- 
limest peroration in American oratory, was quick to acknowledge 
his indebtedness to Isaiah and the Psalms for his standards of 
literary excellence. 

The great historian, Macaulay, alludes to the Bible thus: 
“The English Bible,—a book which, if everything else in our 
language should perish, would alone suffice to show the whole 
extent of its beauty and power.” 

If we would be acquainted with the world’s best literature, 
we have no alternative but to give our days and nights to the 
study of the scriptures. 

But while these truths are of vast importance, I have as yet 
scarcely touched upon the more important part of my theme. 
Any eulogy of the Bible which stops with its relation to respecta¬ 
bility, and knowledge, and literary form, stops at the vestibule 
of the subject. The Bible sustains a vital relation to man’s moral 
nature, and should be studied for its bearing upon human con¬ 
duct and character. 

Matthew Arnold, the great English essayist, who made the 
Bible a constant study, said: “As well imagine a man with a 
sense for sculpture not cultivating it by the remains of Greek 
art, or a man with a sense for poetry not cultivating it with the 
help of Homer and Shakespeare, as a man with a sense for con¬ 
duct not cultivating it by the help of the Bible.” 

In all that pertains to conduct the Bible rings true. Its pre¬ 
cepts point to moral perfection. By studying it we keep the lofty 
ideals of life ever before us, and it is a fact of the commonest 
observation that the man who deliberately enters upon an im¬ 
moral career has no use for the Bible. He does not wish to be 
told, as with a voice of thunder: “The wages of sin is death!” 
or: “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” Good 
men may sometimes neglect their Bible; men deliberately bad 
always do. In speaking of moral conduct, I mean the conduct 
which stamps a man as a good neighbor, a good husband, a good 
citizen, a man who intends to pay his debts, lend a hand, and 


IIO 


lead a life honest in the sight of all. Such a man will always 
find his good purposes strengthened and made easier of accom¬ 
plishment by studying the precepts of the scriptures, and words 
are inadequate to express the value of a book which stamps its 
impress thus on men of honest hearts and honest purposes. 

But I must make it clear, at this point, that I have thus far 
spoken only of moral conduct, and not of what pertains to spirit¬ 
ual birth and growth and enlightenment; to that topic I now 
come, and, for the first time in this paper, touch upon what I 
may call the very heart of my subject. 

After all, the one great reason for studying the Bible is that 
it is able to make us wise unto salvation. In all other respects 
the Bible differs from other books only in degree; here it differs 
from all other books in kind. It has no rival, unless we include 
the books of the Eastern religions, and they are not rivals in any 
real sense. 

Mr. Gladstone writes: “It is supremacy and not precedence, 
that we ask for the Bible; it is contrast as well as resemblance 
that we must feel compelled to insist on. The Bible is stamped 
with speciality of origin, and an immeasurable distance separates 
it from all competitors.” 

Here we enter upon a new world of thought and reflection. 
I wish I could deal with it adequately. The Bible is more than 
information, more than literature, more than a guide to right 
conduct. It stands alone. It occupies a place that is all its own. 
It professes to tell us how we may escape from sin and from the 
consequences of sin. It professes to blaze for us a safe and 
illuminated way into the wilderness of the eternities. It pro¬ 
fesses to show us how to obtain peace with God, how to grow in 
holiness, how to find access to eternal joy. Surely such mar¬ 
velous pretentions are worth investigating. Are they true? Can 
they be relied upon? 

This is the way my thoughts run upon the subject: I start 
with the proposition that God is good. My deepest nature says, 
with Abraham—“Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” 
The Bible speaks of God as a faithful Creator, and such I feel 
He must be. Can a faithful Creator have set me adrift on the 
waters of this world without chart or compass? Can He have 
made me a pilgrim and given me no guide book for my journey? 
Surely He must have furnished me a lamp for my feet, a light 
for my pathway. The Bible professes to be such a lamp and to 


in 


furnish such a light, and as a candidate for that pre-eminence 
of function, it has no rival worthy of the name. With this pre¬ 
sumption in favor of the truth of the Bible, I resolve to investi¬ 
gate its claims. I open the Bible determined to do it simple* 
justice;—no more, no less. I will study it, not desiring to cavil, 
but ready to receive truth and reject error. I read that there is 
none good,—no, not one. At first I am inclined to dispute this 
proposition. I have tried to be good, and at times have been in¬ 
clined to think that I have succeeded. But here in the Bible, on a 
thousand pages, I find the exceeding sinfulness of sin insisted 
upon. In every variety of expression the text declares it, biog¬ 
raphies of good and bad men illustrate it, and, despite my protest, 
a voice within me responds to it. Gradually or suddenly, the 
truth takes possession of my soul. I am a sinner, under the con¬ 
demnation of the righteous law of a righteous God! I read on 
in this unique book—this book stamped with a speciality of 
origin—and it tells me that though I am a sinner, I am in the 
hands of a merciful God who is ready to forgive me into holi¬ 
ness. His mercy, unfolded upon every page, finds supremest 
expression in the words, and life, and death, of One who is 
claimed to be the Son of God. One day I am reading the prayer 
which Jesus uttered on the night of His betrayal; I have read 
it before, but somehow it never before had the same significance 
as now. A voice within me whispers that these words are not 
the utterance of any mere man, nor the invention of any human 
writer. The spirit is taking the things of Christ and showing 
them unto me. Gradually or suddenly, conviction seizes upon 
me and I exclaim, with Thomas,—“My Lord and my God!” The 
miracles of Jesus have hitherto troubled me, but when I think 
of them as the becoming garments of the Son of God, they trouble 
me no longer. Some things in the old testament have troubled 
me, but I remember that the Bible, like all the other works of 
God, is a progressive unfolding, and I am troubled no longer. 
To me it is enough that the story of the Bible, as a whole, cul¬ 
minates in the spiritual splendor of the gospels and epistles, and 
I join the ranks of those whose banners bear the inscription, “We 
are going to receive mercy.” I add my voice to the mighty chorus 
of those who chant: “Therefore, being justified by faith, we 
have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom 
also we have access, through faith, unto this grace wherein we 
stand and rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.” 


112 


Ah, brothers! the Bible is worthy of study, most of all 
because, with a voice that all ears cultured by contact with it 
recognize as testifying truly, it reveals God’s plan of salvation, 
allures us to accept it, aids us to walk in its ways and cheers us 
with the promise of eternal life. If not in words, at least in 
sentiment, it teaches us to sing: 

Then let our songs abound 
And every tear be dry! 

We are marching through Immanuel’s ground 
To fairer worlds on high. 

The Bible is its own witness to its own truthfulness. It 
used to be thought that the way to secure its acceptance was to 
write books on the evidences of Christianity. Far be it from 
me to under-rate such books. Doubtless there are those who are 
helped by them, but to my thought the Bible is, to those who 
honestly study it, a self-evidencing book. That is why it is not 
in the power of an army of Ingersolls to destroy it or harm it. 
That is why our faith increases as our spiritual insight becomes 
more and more quickened and enhanced. 

It is foreign to the purpose of this paper to present any 
theory of the Bible, or of inspiration, or of revelation. There 
are those who, while recognizing that holy men of old wrote as 
they were moved by the Holy Ghost, lay stress upon the fact 
that the pens with which they wrote were wielded by finite and 
human and fallible hands. There are others who think, ap¬ 
parently, that the Bible and every part of it is as directly the 
voice of God as if its language had been originally written upon 
the skies. My subject calls for no discussion of such questions, 
because no theory held to-day by holy men would do away with 
my plea for studying the scriptures. “By their fruits ye shall 
know them,” said Christ, on one occasion, and I apply the same 
rule in estimating the value of the Bible. 

But I cannot forbear to mention a little personal experience, 
along with the result which it left indelibly impressed upon my 
mind. In my college days I was required to put the argument 
of the first chapter of Hebrews into syllogistical form, as an 
exercise in the study of logic. While doing so, I was deeply 
impressed by the wonderfully comprehensive statement con¬ 
tained in the first verse of that chapter, beginning: “God, who 
at sundry times and in divers places,” etc. Then and there I 


reached two conclusions which I have always carried with me 
in studying the Bible; first, that revelation, whatever else it may 
be, exhibits a divine progress, or evolution; and second, that it 
culminates in the revelation of the Christ, who by His teachings, 
and life, and death, causes all other parts of scripture to shine 
by a reflected radiance greater even than their own. In short, 
my Bible is what theologians call “Christo-centric,” and I am 
not frightened by the thought that in the Bible God’s revelation 
of Himself became progressively complete, and culminated in 
His Son. 

I have said that the Bible is to be judged by its fruits, and 
so judged, how pre-eminently it shines! how inexhaustible it 
is! As Spurgeon says: “Nobody ever outgrows Scripture— 
the book widens and deepens with our years.” As Joseph Parker 
says: “It is the wonder of the Bible that you never get through 
it.” John Robinson’s thought that “Still more truth is to come 
from the word of God,” will never be invalidated by the lapse of 
time. It still has heights that have never been scaled, and depths 
that have never been sounded. Its mines of spiritual wealth 
have hardly been opened as yet—much less exhausted. As a 
revealer of the thoughts and intents of the heart, it out-classes 
Shakespeare. Plutarch is not to be mentioned in the presence 
of its procession of heroes and worthies. In no book ever 
written does the plummet of the intellect sink deeper than in the 
book of Romans. Nowhere can be found a spiritual rival of the 
Epistle of John. The Bible appeals to all that is noble and heroic. 
Most of the mighty men whose steadfastness has changed the 
course of history have been Bible readers. Witness Cromwell; 
witness Washington; witness Lincoln, who never could have 
endured to the end if he had not learned from his Bible to 
endure as seeing the invisible. You remember how one of the 
war governors wrote him a despairing letter and Lincoln tele¬ 
graphed back: “Read Exodus 13; 14.” On receiving the tele¬ 
gram and opening his Bible, the governor read: “Fear not, 
stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.” As another has 
said: “It was the Bible which kept alive in Lincoln’s breast the 
spark of hope during our nation’s darkest days.” What the 
Bible has done for individuals in all ages, we all know. What 
thousands have found hope and consolation in it! What thou¬ 
sands have been strengthened to bear burdens by it! It has 
robbed Hunger of its sharpness, Sickness of its apprehensions, 
and Death itself of its terrors. 

114 


As I said at the outset, the least of all reasons for studying 
the Scripture is that a knowledge of it is essential to a certain 
respectability, although, if there were no other reason, that 
alone would be sufficient. A better reason is that a world of in¬ 
formation, most of it unobtainable elsewhere, is opened to us by 
the Scriptures. A third reason, probably a still better one, is 
that the literature of the Bible is full of sublimity, and eloquence, 
and beauty, and grace of utterance; a literature matchless in its 
character, which no mind, cultured or uncultured, can afford to 
miss. A fourth reason, stronger than all the preceding ones, is 
that the Bible points out the way to right conduct and true char¬ 
acter, and strengthens one’s purpose to walk therein. But the 
reason which surpasses all others, outshining them as the sun, is 
that the Bible is able to make wise unto salvation all those who 
honestly study its pages and yield to the influences which, sent 
from heaven, always accompany the honest study of the Word 
of God. 


HOW CAN WE AWAKEN AMONG OUR CHURCH 
MEMBERS A KEENER SENSE OF THEIR 
DUTIES AS CITIZENS? 


“It is a great thing to be a citizen of this country, and the 
privilege has corresponding obligations.” So said a former 
President of the United States, and so says every thoughtful 
person. We are accustomed to think that nowhere are the ripe 
fruits of regulated liberty so abundantly to be had as here, and 
it certainly follows that nowhere is the claim which the State 
makes upon the citizen so absolutely just and reasonable; and 
yet I am asked to state how church members, in old Connecticut 
even, may be awakened to a keener sense of their duties as 
citizens. 

Is there not some mistake lurking in this question? Is it 
not of a piece with that old jest about the decaying farms of 
Connecticut,—the farms of Connecticut which have been said 
to be decaying ever since I can remember, and which still raise 
good crops and better citizens? Do we not all know church 
members who are zealous in the discharge of political duties, 
and have we not observed, in the cases of not a few, that their 
public spirit is unsurpassed and admirable? Undoubtedly such 
is the case with many, if not with the majority of church mem¬ 
bers, and yet if we ask whether the names of church members 
are always recorded as voting when night descends upon the 
battle of the ballots; whether church members ever seek to 
escape from doing jury duty; whether church members always 
serve willingly upon the sewer commission and the school com¬ 
mittee; whether they always attend town meetings and party 
primaries; whether, in short, they are always ready to step aside 
from the furrow and the factory and the countinghouse in glad 
response to all the calls which a free republic makes upon its 
citizens;—I am sure that a faithful answer to all these ques¬ 
tions will make it appear both reasonable and seasonable to 
enquire how church members may be awakened to a keener 
sense of their duties as citizens. 


116 


In the first place, I think church members should be edu¬ 
cated to a loftier conception of the State and of political duties. 
They should never be asked to think of the State as merely 
secular, or of political duties as merely secular duties. We live 
in an age when the church and State have been effectually sepa¬ 
rated. But the escape from one peril has introduced another. 
We say the church and religion are sacred; therefore, we seem 
to reason, the State and politics are secular. Then, by an easy 
transition, we are tempted to tolerate in politics a special code 
of ethics, or rather, I am ashamed to say, a code almost without 
ethics. We speak of the muddy waters of politics as if they 
were always and necessarily muddy, and it is even conceivable 
that in the heat of party contests church members hear, without 
so much as a protest, the brazen announcement that “All is fair 
in politics,” even though every precept of the Sermon on the 
Mount is trampled upon. This thoughtless assumption that the 
State is a merely secular institution is a fundamental error, and 
yet it is one that poisons the thinking and acting of some good 
men, as exhalations from surrounding swamps poison the atmos¬ 
phere of cultivated gardens. The church and State should be 
wholly separated in administration. Upon that subject I would 
utter no uncertain sound; but the church and the State derive 
from the same source their respective rights and powers and 
sanctions. The dominion over life which civil governments 
wield in time of war, belongs to the God of Battles; the power 
to take life which civil society exercises in punishing crime be¬ 
longs to the God of Justice. As Americans, we hold unques- 
tioningly the belief that ultimate political power belongs to the 
people; but as Christians we add, with Thomas Hooker, that it 
is theirs “By God’s own allowance.” I have never been able to 
take any lower view of the office of a sworn juryman than that 
which regards him as a vicegerent of Heaven; and of the truly 
ermined judge of to-day, it may be said, as of those who held 
court in the fenced cities of Judah: “Ye judge not for man, 
but for the Lord who is with you in the judgment.” 

Let us away with all theories of the State which trace its 
sanctions and sanctities to some secular compact entered into at 
some pre-historic era, in some political Forest of Arden. Let 
the church member think of political service as a service ren¬ 
dered to his country’s God. As a tonic to his debilitated sense 
of obligation as a citizen, let him think of his obligations as a 


Christian. Let him get a new and loftier view of the State, that 
power which makes for peace, guardianship and civic righteous¬ 
ness, and which depends, for any approach to ideal efficiency, 
upon those who carry into its service a religious spirit. 

Again, I think church members should be made to have a 
broader and more rounded conception of their duties as burden- 
bearers. How easy it is for the Christian to pervert the truth 
that he is a pilgrim and a stranger upon the earth, into a pretext 
for shirking his duties as a citizen! Should he not remember 
that, if he is a pilgrim, there are other pilgrims to come after 
him? If here he has no continuing city, yet the very city where 
he dwells, and where his or his brethren's children are to dwell 
after him, will continue to be either an abode of good govern¬ 
ment or a plague spot. Nor will his indifference be a neutral 
factor in determining its destiny. He cannot be neutral and be 
a Christian; that is the long and short of it. For just in pro¬ 
portion as he has entered upon that “Life out of self,” which is 
the test of a Christian experience, he will find himself planning 
for public as well as private good, and for coming generations 
as well as for the present. 

I have in mind a spot where a spring of sweet water gushes 
by a dusty roadside. Near by, upon a rude support, is hung an 
old tin cup which keeps its place by the kindly thoughtfulness of 
successive wayfarers who, one by one, have experienced the re¬ 
freshment of a wayside draught, and have returned the cup to 
its wonted place. How often, as I have stopped to quench my 
thirst and found the old cup still performing its humble duty, 
have I found myself reflecting upon the utter baseness of him 
who could lift the cup to his own parched and thirsty lips and 
then hide it away from coming travellers; or of the almost equal 
turpitude of him who should bring about the same result by his 
unchristian indifference and neglect to return it to its place. And 
yet the church member who is negligent of his political duties 
is doing that very thing. He is enjoying the blessings of civil 
and religious liberty which others have labored for, and fought 
for, and died for, careless whether succeeding generations shall 
lift to their lips the same cup of privilege. Nay, he even stands 
by and sees the fountain itself polluted. He excuses himself 
from jury duty which he could conscientiously discharge, while 
a corruptionist is standing behind him ready to go upon the panel 
and sell his verdict to the highest bidder. He neglects to vote, 


118 


and flatters himself that he does not share the responsibility of 
permitting bad men to hold office. He refuses to stand as a 
candidate for an office whose duties he is well fitted to discharge, 
and sees them administered by another in the spirit of the burglar 
or the buccaneer. “Bear ye one another’s burdens” is a com¬ 
mandment of love which no one can escape and be a worthy 
church member. Let the church member extend his conception 
of the burdens which he is required to joyfully bear to include 
the burdens of public duty;—duty toward the public of to-day 
and toward the greater public of the future,—and in proportion 
as he is worthy of the relationship which he bears to the church 
will there be aroused within him a keener sense of his duty as 
a citizen. 

What a change would, in a day, come over Connecticut if all 
its church members should at once and unitedly resolve to attend 
political primaries and town and city meetings; to vote at all 
elections and to shun no political duty whatever! Strongly in¬ 
trenched as are the forces of evil in prevailing political methods, 
they could not withstand such an onset. Church members them¬ 
selves are largely to blame for the very evils which they lament, 
and the corrective for which they pray is to be found in a keener 
sense of their own obligations as citizens. 

How many of us fully realize the extent to which free gov¬ 
ernment upon this continent is indebted to Connecticut church 
members? If we ask what is the most fundamental idea in the 
scheme of government which now prevails from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific, we shall be told that it is the right of the people to 
set bounds and limits to the authority of chosen representatives 
by means of a written instrument called a constitution. Well, 
that idea had no place among political theories even, and was 
absolutely unknown until it was proclaimed by a Connecticut 
preacher in a Connecticut meeting house. That new idea, the 
idea of constitutional limitations imposed by the people upon 
the exercise of their own powers through their own representa¬ 
tives, was as new in 1638, when it was first proclaimed upon 
the banks of the Connecticut river, as was the telephone, within 
our own memories. That new idea, first wrought into the Con¬ 
necticut Constitution of 1639, and thenceforward the germ of 
all constitutional government upon this continent, is the most 
precious political legacy ever inherited by any people. 


I wish I could make some estimate of the value of this ab¬ 
solutely novel idea in human government which was given to 
the world by a Connecticut church member. I have alluded to 
the invention of the telephone. What a change has been wrought 
by that marvellous instrument! It has become a part of almost 
everybody’s every-day existence. To abolish it would be to pro¬ 
duce a business and social upheaval. Now I estimate as highly 
as any one the importance of mechanical inventions; I believe 
they are the source, vastly underestimated, of the industrial de¬ 
velopments of the times we live in. But better, far better, that 
all knowledge of the telephone should perish, than that Thomas 
Hooker’s idea of constitutional limitations imposed upon them¬ 
selves by the governed and governing people should be lost to 
the art of free government. In the one case no vital interest of 
society would be affected; in the other case free government 
would go adrift without rudder or sheet anchor, and the tyranny 
of an ever shifting majority would take the place of controlled 
and regulated liberty. 

If I am right, the next most important idea in our complex 
American system is the one which established a Federal Union, 
presided over by a national government exercising sway over a 
territory consisting of a group of States of unequal size and vastly 
disproportionate importance. This formative idea, which was 
that of equal representation in one House of Congress and pro¬ 
portionate representation in the other house, is also to be 
ascribed to Connecticut church members. It was this idea, 
brought forward by Ellsworth and Sherman, which reconciled 
conflicting interests and opinions in the darkest hours of the 
Constitutional Convention at Philadelphia, and made it possible 
for thirteen colonies to grow into nearly fifty States with no de¬ 
parture from the principle then established. These are but two 
instances, taken from the ancient annals of a little state, of con¬ 
spicuous and invaluable public services rendered by church mem¬ 
bers. We certainly have no reason to hang our heads at this 
recital, and I have no apology to make for prescribing, as one 
antidote for neglect of the duties of citizenship by church mem¬ 
bers, a better knowledge of what has been accomplished by the 
members of Connecticut churches in advancing the art of human 
government. 

But I am told that I must take into account modern de¬ 
generacy. I am told that politics have come to be so corrupt 


120 


that church members who meddle with them accomplish no 
benefit and become themselves defiled! Can it be necessary for 
me to maintain that no one can be defiled by corrupt methods 
which he does not countenance? Who ever heard it suggested 
that a soldier, fighting for his country, was dishonored because 
there were traitors in his regiment? To go to the primaries and 
strive to nominate good men is not to share in the crime of those 
who consciously seek to nominate unfit candidates. To be bound 
by caucus action in matters of mere choice or preference is 
neither irrational nor immoral. To vote for the better of one of 
two candidates is not necessarily to make one’s self responsible 
for the shortcomings of the better man. Cases may arise which 
make it a plain duty to give the preference to measures over men 
by voting for the candidate who represents the better policy, 
although his opponent may be thought to be the superior in moral 
character. The church member cannot escape the obligation to 
use his judgement as well as his conscience. His faculties were 
given him as guides to right action, not to find excuses for in¬ 
difference and inaction. The art of government is the most 
practical of all arts and the church member may not refuse to 
do all the good that is in his power because an ultimate and ideal 
good is not yet attainable. 

However, I very much doubt the assertion that American 
politics are degenerating. It is a trite saying that we live in an 
age of publicity. We breakfast with all the rascalities and hor¬ 
rors that the sun has gazed upon in its last diurnal journey, but 
we make a mistake when we assume that because more evil is 
made public there is therefore more evil. When we read of the 
corruptions of some political organization or of the questionable 
methods of individual partisans, we think the skies of political 
morality are falling, but, after all is said and done, there were 
never more good men in politics than to-day; there were never 
more champions of upright methods in politics than to-day, and 
in all directions there is a disposition to scrutinize candidates 
and select the best, that is in every way encouraging. This is 
no place to speak of particular political measures or of particular 
statesmen, but it is right for me to echo the opinion that finds 
expression in political newspapers of every shade of politics that 
never since the days of Washington have men had greater confi¬ 
dence than now in the purity of motive of the men in power at 
the seat of government, and if you ask the reason, it will be found, 


121 


although not always acknowledged, in the fact that church mem¬ 
bers who honor their professions are at the helm of State;— 
church members who seek to live the life out of self in the high 
places of human ambition. 

But what of being a candidate? Is that the proper thing 
for a church member? The service of the State has always been 
accounted honorable, and if the young church member becomes 
conscious of an aptitude for public affairs why should he not 
seek a public career? But let him not make the terrible mistake 
of forgetting the precepts and maxims of the Master when he 
comes to consider the ways and means of advancement. Let 
him believe, in every fibre of his being, that the “Last shall be 
first and the least shall be greatest.” If he has misgivings on 
this subject, let him study the career of the greatest general of 
the Civil War. Did Grant touch the summit of human ambition 
because his eyes were upon Washington and Preferment, or be¬ 
cause they were upon Donaldson and Duty ? In the light of such 
a career as Grant’s the dullest mind can recognize the divine 
wisdom of those precepts which the Master laid down for our 
guidance, and along whose lines church members must achieve 
preferment, if at all. 

God’s law of promotion has no first prizes for persistent 
self seekers. Under that law men attain to honor, not because 
they are snatching and clutching at promotion, but because they 
are doing their duty in their sphere and time. 

If, then, you ask how we are to awaken in church members 
a keener sense of their duties as citizens, I answer, suggestively: 

First: Plant in their hearts a sense of sacred obligation— 
not to a State conceived of as a secular contrivance to run a gov¬ 
ernment as you would run a factory—but to the State recognized 
as a providential and sacred institution ordained of God for noble 
ends, and working out through free institutions the prosperity 
of a free people. 

Second: I would have the church member expand his idea 
of his duties as a Christian Burden Bearer. He should enlarge 
it so as to include the State, and recognize his share of the re¬ 
sponsibility for the conduct of public affairs. Only then should 
he be permitted to believe that he has “Fulfilled the law of 
Christ.” 


122 


Third: I would arouse in church members, old and young, 
the spirit of the fathers and founders of our country and its in¬ 
stitutions. 

Fourth: I would have the church member give no credence 
to the claim, which the adversary of all righteousness voices 
through the lips of some professed Christians, that the state and 
politics are corrupt beyond remedy; that affairs are going from 
bad to worse; that the church member will become defiled if he 
does his duty, and that the only path of safety and sanctity is 
the one which ignores the right of posterity to demand the per¬ 
petuation of the free institutions which we have inherited. I 
would have the church member never despair of the Republic, 
but believe unfalteringly in its ultimate prosperity and purity, as 
a part of his belief in God. 

I have thus far dwelt chiefly upon principles and motives and 
have said but little about methods and measures. Without going 
into particulars, I may add that it seems to me that all along the 
line,—in the pulpit, the prayer-meeting, the Christian Endeavor 
Society and the Sunday School—the importance and essential 
dignity of the duties of citizenship should be insisted upon more 
frequently, the loftiest ideals being kept ever before the young, so 
that, interstranded with the conception of the Christian life that 
shall accompany them to the estate of manhood, may be the 
recognition of their obligations as faithful citizens. 


WHAT IS POETRY? 


Art has various vehicles of expression. When its approach 
is through the eye alone, with its sense of form and colour, we 
call it painting; when, summoning to its aid the sense of touch 
as an ally of the vision it gives us chiseled forms of beauty, we 
call it sculpture; and when, stealing along the auditory nerve, it 
holds us in the grasp of another form of enchantment, we be¬ 
come aware of still another art, and call it music. Thus, in music, 
painting and sculpture, art seems to be dependent for expression 
upon a close alliance with the outer senses. But the expression 
of art is not always thus dependent. We have inner voices as 
well as outer senses; and when, ignoring the eye and ear and 
making its approach through the incorporeal senses of the soul, 
Art paints for us pictures without pigments, shapes for us all 
forms of grace and beauty without chisels, salutes our souls with 
music such as never came from viols or brasses, we then become 
conscious of an art more subtle and yet more sovereign than all 
the rest, and to this art we give the name of poetry. Poetry 
speaks and it is done. In poetry, art flashes from soul to soul. 
No wonder then that men have crowned the poet with garlands 
and set him apart from all his fellows as the supreme exponent 
of the soul of art. 

Of all art it may be said in a general way that it fulfills its 
mission by stimulating imagination in its votaries. But the con¬ 
crete arts, if such I may call them, differ widely among them¬ 
selves in the amount of freedom which they tolerate in the im¬ 
aginations which they excite. One art awakens the imagination 
to hold it in slavish subjection; another to give it a noble largess 
of liberty. Thus, the painter strives to represent not only what 
is vital to the idea that inspires him, but he crowds his canvas 
from margin to margin with all the details and accessories which 
he associates with that idea, often leaving as little as possible to 
the imagination of the beholder. He is not content with the 
major strokes which make his work a master-piece, and so his 
picture, because it is finished in every detail, tells much the same 


124 


story to all who gaze upon it. So, too, in the art of sculpture 
the artist seeks not only to represent to our souls the ideal of 
beauty which he has discerned beneath the surface of the marble, 
but he takes our imaginations captive and conducts them—will¬ 
ing slaves indeed—along the curved and flowing lines and con¬ 
tours of his work;—in short, he bids us absorb his imaginations 
and suppress our own. In music, indeed, larger liberty is ac¬ 
corded. When a Seidl interprets Wagner, the effect, to use 
Milton's figure, is like “Morn risen upon noonday,” so great is 
the scope of the interpreter’s province. But after all is said in 
favor of music, the poet’s art is unique in the splendid range of 
liberty which it accords to the imaginations to which its appeal 
is made. The poet’s paintings and marbles and music have noth¬ 
ing to do with the eye and little to do with the sense of hearing. 
The poet mixes no colors, scatters no chips, and strikes into vibra¬ 
tion no sounding strings. With two or three touches of an im¬ 
palpable brush, he paints a picture even truer to nature than the 
painter’s labored transcript,—a picture which, once seen by im¬ 
agination’s eye, hangs on the walls of memory forever. 

I take for illustration a couplet into which the poet Bryant 
compresses all that is necessary to be said about November in 
the woods. 

“Heaped in the hollows of the woods the withered leaves lie dead; 

They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit’s tread.” 

What painting of the Autumn woods ever told the story of 
the decaying year as effectively as these two lines! The eddying 
swirl of the withered leaves heaped in the hollows,—what a touch 
is that! The rustle “To the rabbit’s tread,” emphasizing the in¬ 
dwelling silence of the woods till, listening, we can hear the 
single chestnuts drop,—how the mention of it draws in its train 
all the accessories of Autumn scenery. Nothing whatever is 
wanting in the picture which the poet teaches our imaginations 
to depict. Our memories, with the materials which our several 
experiences supply, fill in all details and accesories, but our 
imaginations with all their freedom cannot construct a scene 
which is not true to nature so long as we have in mind the poet’s 
couplet. The poet, under the unerring guidance of genius, has 
fixed forever in our minds just what is essential to a faithful 
picture of November, and has left it to our enkindled imagina- 


125 


tions to supply the rest. The hunter sees one picture, the nut- 
gatherer another, the aimless wanderer in wood-paths still an¬ 
other, but all are guided unerringly to recognize the essential 
spirit of the departing year as it tarries in the November woods. 
The poet is indeed the consummate artist, for he makes artists 

of us all. 

Now that the spell of Autumn is upon us let us listen to 
what Miss Hannah F. Gould says of November, noticing how 
with touches of single words she rivals a thousand touches of 
the painter’s brush: 

“November came on with an eye severe 
And his stormy language was hoarse to hear, 

And the glittering garland of brown and red 

Which was wreathed for awhile round the forest head 

With sudden anger he rent away, 

And all was cheerless, bare and gray.” 

What painter ever depicted November like that! And yet 
the whole picture is presented by six lines of poetry which com¬ 
pel us to see nature precisely as it is, while leaving us all fancy 
free to paint as many different pictures as the poet has readers. 
In this connection let us call to mind Shakespeare’s two immortal 
couplets descriptive of the morning: 

“Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund Day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops”; 

and 

“But look! The Mom, in russet mantle clad, 

Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.” 

In these couplets all our experiences of morning live again 
and our imaginations are stimulated to re-create what the great 
poet saw so vividly and committed to immortal verse. The 
poet’s art enchains our imaginations and leaves us at the same 
time fancy-free. 

The word poet comes from a Greek word signifying “The 
Maker.” Is it true, then, that the poet is in some special sense 
the maker, or has the genius of language blundered? Scientists 
tell us that the same faculties exist in poet and peasant; that the 
admirer could not enjoy the poet unless their mental endow¬ 
ments were, after all, similar in kind though different in degree. 
But if “It takes a poet to appreciate a poet,” why should writers 


126 


of poetry be set apart and specially designated makers or creators ? 
The answer is obvious. It is true that, as we catalogue the 
human faculties, poet and peasant are similarly endowed. In 
both are found imagination and emotional susceptibility—al¬ 
though, of course, in varying degree;—but we must not forget 
the creative element in the imagination of the poet. In the poet, 
imagination exists as a compelling force urging him on to poetic 
creation as a necessity of his being. The poet writes because the 
making of poetry is his vital breath. In Longfellow, poetical 
composition was the flower of a beautiful soul that could not 
refrain from blossoming, and Whittier’s voice was the voice of 
a seer and prophet speaking, as seers and prophets always must, 
in accents of profoundest poetry. With the poet, imagination 
exists as a power of origination, not merely as a power of ap¬ 
preciation. It is a power which, as Shakespeare has it, “Bodies 
forth the shapes of things unknown.” “I think the thoughts of 
God after him,” said the astronomer as his mind traversed the 
inter-stellar spaces, but the astronomer could not create even an 
atom of star dust. “I think the thoughts of the poet after 
him,” says the reader, his imagination all aglow as it responds 
to the poet’s word-witchery, but, try he never so hard, he can 
not create a single sentence of the star dust of poetry. But 
this very thing the poet can do and does do, and the poet is there¬ 
fore in a special and noble sense “The Maker ” Others follow 
and admire, but the poet, in the domain of the noblest of the 
arts, precedes and creates. 

But, you say, the poet does not monopolize all art, and are 
not all the arts creative? Doubtless, but note the difference. In 
the painter’s work his pigments are mingled with his fancy; the 
sculptor has his marble block before him; even the musician is 
dependent upon his instrument when his hour of inspiration 
comes; but the poet out of “Airy nothings” creates his universe 
of truth and beauty. After all, etymology is right and language 
has made no blunder in passing over all other artistic activities 
as relatively ignoble, and in singling out the poet as, in a special 
sense, entitled to bear the exalted name of “Maker,” or “Creator.” 

And how the poets shine in history! Homer, Virgil, Dante, 
Milton, Shakespeare,—what colossal forms arise before our 
vision at the mention of their mighty names. In comparison 
with their high vocation, how cheap and tawdry the craft of 
Kings and the trumpeted exploits of conquerors! Nor should 


127 


we overlook the long array of lesser poets who take only a second 
place when compared with the princes of their profession. How 
they all, lesser as well as greater, have uplifted and sweetened 
life and made the world their debtors with a debt that cannot 
be liquidated! By reason of the poets, throughout the whole, 
long voyage of life humanity has been made to traverse sweeter 
and diviner shores. 

In asking ourselves, “What is poetry?” we encounter a vexed 
question at the very beginning. Is the distinction which is ordi¬ 
narily recognized between prose and poetry a vital and a scien¬ 
tific one? Must all literature which presents itself in a versified 
form be classed as poetry, and all other literature be relegated 
to the domain of prose? When we ask whether all verse is 
poetry, do we not think of mere verse makers like Tupper and 
Austen, and when we ask whether we must never recognize 
poetry in prose composition do not scores of instances occur to 
us in which we think we hear from underneath a mask of prose 
the unmistakable voice of poetry? What of Milton’s “Areopi- 
getica” and its impassioned description of a good book as “The 
life blood of an immortal spirit treasured up on purpose to a life 
beyond life”; and its description of the noble nation which the 
author sees with a poet’s vision and describes in the burning 
language of a poet’s soul ? Why does common speech recognize 
the validity of the expressions “Prose-poem” and “Prose-poet”? 
Why does Principal Shairp devote whole chapters to Carlyle and 
Newman as prose-poets? What shall we do with the judicious 
Hooker’s splendid characterization of law, beginning: “Of law 
nothing less than this can be said, that her seat is the bosom of 
God and her voice the harmony of the world.” Is not this poetry 
of almost Miltonic splendor? Again, what shall we do with the 
close of Webster’s reply to Hayne where, the argument of the 
lawyer-statesman coming to a close, the poet-orator, his soul on 
fire with patriotic fervor, pours forth that immortal passage be¬ 
ginning, “When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last 
time the sun in heaven”? Lawyers and statesmen, indeed, ad¬ 
mire the masterly argument in the body of the oration, but the 
poetic peroration spoke to the universal soul and captured a 
nation's heart. More than Grant’s strategy, it put down the 
rebellion, because every private in the Union armies had been 
taught by it to refuse to think of his Country excepting as “Now 
and forever one and inseparable.” Then what of the fine passage 


128 


at the close of Lincoln s second inaugural referring to the angels 
of our better nature acquiring ascendancy over the forces of 
civil strife? When I read that poetic passage and think how 
soon after its utterance the civil strife was stilled, I think of 
that beautiful passage in the Aeneid where Father Neptune 
lifts his head above the stormy waters, and the angry waves, 
catching the aspect of his smiling countenance, become calm. 

That prose may be penetrated with the spirit of poetry seems 
to admit of no sort of doubt; whether on that account the recog¬ 
nized barrier between prose and poetry should be broken down, 
is a different question. 

I should not omit to notice that Coleridge makes poetry the 
antithesis, not of prose, but of science. This distinction, drawn 
by one of the world’s profoundest thinkers, is, after all, simply 
saying that, poetry being an art, there exists between it and 
science the chasm which divides all art from all science. But 
the thought is worth pursuing. Science deals with the abstract; 
poetry with the concrete. Science proceeds by analysis; poetry 
by synthesis. Science is a plodder; poetry has wings. Science 
has to do with truth without adornment; poetry, with truth ar¬ 
rayed in royal purple. Yes, it is entirely true that poetry is the 
antithesis of science; but does it follow from that, that no line 
of demarcation whatever is to be drawn between imaginative 
prose and poetry? 

Those who maintain that prose is never poetry assume a 
definition of poetry which makes metrical form essential. In¬ 
deed, one author says of metrical form that “It is the sole condi¬ 
tion absolutely demanded by poetry.” The champions of this 
view of the subject maintain that rhythmic waves are not more 
native to the stormy sea than rythmic verse to the emotions 
which surge in the poet’s soul. And do we not all feel that some¬ 
how the Vergilian hexameters are an essential part of the poetry 
of the Aeneid? Do we not feel that Thanatopsis would lose 
something of its moral grandeur if deprived of its stately and 
measured movement? Say what we may, we cannot overlook 
the fact that the greatest poets in all ages have availed them¬ 
selves of verse, as if they could not otherwise adequately voice 
their inspirations. 

Then, too, we should consider the analogy between poetry 
and music. In painting and sculpture art deploys its forces of 
beauty in the category of space; but in poetry, as in music, art 


129 


makes its appeal in tone and time. Does it not at once occur to 
us that poetry may be a sort of verbal music, with the same de¬ 
pendence upon metrical movement as other music. The posses¬ 
sion of a musical voice does not make a recital by an elocutionist a 
song; why then should prose, even when studded with imagina¬ 
tion, be honored with the name of poetry ? Gummere says: 
“Rhythm is not artificial, not an invention; it lies at the heart 
of things, and in rhythm the noblest emotions find their noblest 
expression.” If this be true there is certainly a natural bond 
between the poet’s thought and its metrical expression, and it 
is a noteworthy fact that each of the world’s three great epics 
begins with a reference to the poem that is to follow as in its 
nature a song. Homer begins the Iliad thus: 

“Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring 
Of woes unnumbered, Heavenly goddess, sing\” 

The opening line of Virgil’s Aeneid may be translated: 

“Arms and the man, I sing.” 

While Milton’s immortal epic of the Fall of Man is intro¬ 
duced by this appeal to the muse: 

“Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world and all our woe, 

Sing, Heavenly muse !” 

In the art of music we class everything as music which pos¬ 
sesses proper form. It may be good music or it may be poor 
music, but we class it all together under one head. Why not 
then regard everything as poetry which is in the form which 
great poets have always used, and call it poor poetry or good 
poetry as the case may be, excluding all that is prose in form 
from the domain of poetry, just as we exclude the artistic and 
often musical work of the elocutionist from the province of 
music? 

Many discriminating writers have struggled with the ques¬ 
tion, “What is poetry,” but when they have thought to penetrate 
to the secret of its essential nature, little or no success has at¬ 
tended their efforts. The task which they have proposed for 
themselves is as baffling as the search for the secret of the fra- 


130 



grance of flowers. On a placard in our own Public Library we 
may read: “Poetry is the fragrance and bloom of all knowl¬ 
edge,” and someone has said that “Poetry is the efflorescence of 
all truth.” I cannot help thinking that these definitions are more 
fanciful than scientific, and I confess that if poetry had no 
aspect to present excepting that which involves its essential na¬ 
ture, I should have chosen another subject for this paper. 

But may we not distinguish between the essential spirit of 
poetry, and poetry as voiced by the poets; that is to say, between 
poetry as in some sense an ultimate force or essence or element, 
and poetry conceived of as a concrete constituent of literature. 
It seems to me that the distinction is one that properly may be 
recognized and that to the question, “What is poetry?” consid¬ 
ered in the latter sense, we need not despair of something like a 
satisfactory answer. 

The great writers upon the art of poetry throw little or no 
light upon our subject. Horace gives us no discussion of the 
nature of poetry in his “Ars Poetica.” He simply postulates or 
assumes the born poet addressing himself to his task, and in 
finished verse lays down the canons of good taste applicable to 
his art. The teaching of his “Ars Poetica” has been summed up 
thus: “Genius is the indispensable condition of success, but 
genius is ineffective without culture—especially ethical culture;— 
and without discipline—especially discipline in correcting errors, 
pruning redundancies, and remedying defects of style.” Horace 
gives no answer to the question, “What is poetry?” He simply 
tells the born poet what he must avoid if he » would reach the 
summit of his art. 

Nor does fifteenth century Vida help us; Vida, of whom 
Pope wrote: 

“Immortal Vida, on whose honored brow 
The poet’s bays and critic’s ivy grow.” 

Vida was an Italian who wrote in Latin verse a treatise on 
the “Art of Poetry.” He does not answer our question but merely 
tells the born poet what he must avoid doing if he would rival 
Virgil, whom he seems to have regarded as the ideal poet. 

Boileau’s “Art of Poetry,” written in French, is equally 
useless for our purpose. So far as I have learned, all the authors 
whose works may be called classic seem to say,—“Don’t write 


poetry unless you are a true poet, and, if you are, kindly observe 
our rules which we can recommend with confidence.’ What is 
going on when,— 

“The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven.” 

they all omit to tell us. 

But nineteenth century authors are more venturesome. The 
poet Shelley tells us that poetry is the “Expression of the im¬ 
agination.” To explain his definition he defines reason as “Mind 
contemplating the relations between one thought and another,” 
and imagination as “Mind acting upon those thoughts so as to 
color them with its own light, and composing from them, as from 
elements, other thoughts, each containing within itself the prin¬ 
ciple of its own integrity.” According to Shelley, therefore, 
poetry is expressed imagination, and imagination, the realm of 
the poet’s function, is a faculty which colors thoughts with a 
light that is all its own, and combines the thoughts, thus colored, 
into new wholes of thought to which the poet gives expression. 
It will be noticed that Shelley’s definition places no emphasis on 
metrical form. The reason soon appears, for later on Shelley 
says: “The distinction between poet and prose writers is a vulgar 
error; Lord Bacon was a poet.” 

It is noteworthy that Shelley, makes little of passion or 
emotion. “The expression of the imagination,” whether in prose 
or verse, is to him the all-in-all of poetry. 

Shelley’s definition seems rather to fall short of, than to 
distort the truth. It seems to be good as far as it goes, but it 
does not exhaust the matter. 

“Poetry,” says Leigh Hunt, “Is the utterance of a passion 
for truth, beauty and power, embodying and illustrating its con¬ 
ceptions by imagination and fancy, and modulating its language 
on the principle of variety in uniformity.” Again, Hunt says: 
“Poetry is imaginative passion.” Again, after quoting two noble 
passages from The Iliad, Hunt says: 

“Writers without the greatest passion and power do not feel 
in this way, nor are they capable of expressing the feeling; though 
there is enough sensibility and imagination all over the world 
to enable mankind to be moved by it when the poet speaks the 
truth into their hearts.” 


132 


It will be remembered that Hunt, in his definition, makes 
“Variety in uniformity” the principle in obedience to which 
poetry modulates its language. This is what Hunt says in ex¬ 
planation of his meaning: 

“With regard to the principle of variety in uniformity, . 

it has been contended by some that poetry need not 
be written in verse at all; that prose is as good a medium, pro¬ 
vided poetry be conveyed through it; and that to think other¬ 
wise is to confound letter with spirit, or form with essence. But 
the opinion is a prosaical mistake. Fitness and unfitness for song 
makes all the difference between a poetical and prosaical sub¬ 
ject; and the reason why verse is necessary to the form of poetry 
is because the poetical spirit demands it,—that the circle of en¬ 
thusiasm, beauty and power is incomplete without it.” 

Further on, he says of the poet and his verse: 

“They are lovers, playfully challenging each other’s rule 
and delighting, equally, to rule and to obey. Verse is the final 
proof to the poet that his mastery over his art is complete.” 

Principal Shairp declines to add another to the definitions 
of poetry. He contents himself with noting some characteristics 
of the poetic nature. It is of this nature, he says: “It is rooted 
in the heart rather than in the head.” If the poet’s domain were 
compressed into one word it would be, “Beauty.” The whole or 
any part of the range of existence imaginatively apprehended, 
may be transfigured into poetry. The organ or mental gift 
through which the poet writes is imagination. To a man’s 
ordinary conception of things imagination adds force, clearness 
and coloring. It is that subtle and mysterious gift which goes 
straight to the core of a subject laying bare its inner life. Of 
imagination, Shairp says: 

“All great poets are full of this power. It is that by which 
Shakespeare read the inmost heart of man, Wordsworth, Nature.” 

Imagination is the power by virtue of which the poet drops 
that which is accidental, and selecting those thoughts which suit 
his purpose, combines them into a harmonious whole. It clothes 
spiritual conceptions in appropriate forms, or, reversing the 
process, fills the corporeal with higher meanings. Imagination 
is a truth-seeing faculty and is inseparably attended by emotion. 

Shairp differs from those who make the imparting of 
pleasure the supreme object of poetry. The one sufficient 
motive of the poet is to express what he sees and feels. “Poetry,” 


T33 


he says, “Expresses the best thought and noblest feeling which 
the spectacle of life awakens in the noblest souls.” 

Shairp refuses to discuss the question whether poetic 
conception and expression are inseparable. He contents him¬ 
self with saying that, in the greatest poets in their happiest moods, 
the two meet in perfect equipoise. 

The poet Stedman, too, has written upon the subject of 
poetry. “Poetry,” he says, “is a creation. Back of expression 
is the art ideal. The quality of the poet’s creation is in a sense 
that of revelation. He utters what he sees with the inward 
vision. This creative insight is the endowment of genius. To 
the poet is also given a power of co-adequate expression. The 
poet’s nature, exalted to a creative pitch, becomes emotional; 
His emotion instinctively acquires the tone and diction fitted to 
its best expression. Poetry, differing from the other arts, houses 
itself in words, but only when language takes wings does it be¬ 
come poetry. As the poet rises to enthusiasm and imaginative 
power, his speech becomes rhythmic and thus puts on the distin¬ 
guishing attribute of poetry. Rhythmical speech goes with emo¬ 
tional thought. The poet has the gift of rhythm by nature, just 
as the painter draws likenesses before he can read or write. The 
makers of poetry: 

‘Feed on thoughts that voluntary move 
Harmonious numbers.’ 

The rapture of the poet governs the tone and accent of his 

‘High and passionate thoughts 
To their own music chanted.’ 

Prose fiction is often imbued with the true spirit of poetry, 
but the point remains that poetry is ideal expression through 
words, and that words are not poetry unless they reach a stress 
that is rhythmical.” 

This digest of a few pages from Stedman must impress us 
as, on the whole, a satisfactory account of the nature of poetry. 

Stedman defines poetry thus: “Poetry is rhythmical im¬ 
aginative language, expressing the invention, taste, thought, pas¬ 
sion and insight of the human soul.” 

I might present the views of other writers, but will content 
myself with giving another definition, found in the Encyclopedia 


134 


Britannica: “Absolute poetry is the concrete and artistic ex¬ 
pression of the human mind in emotional and rhythmical 
language.” 

Let us now seek in these diverse views and definitions those 
points in which the authors agree, hoping thereby to reach a 
conclusion which we may approve as reasonably satisfactory. 

In the first place, must we not conclude that Shelley’s defini¬ 
tion of poetry as the “Expression of the imagination” is too 
narrow? However we may define imagination, it is too sug¬ 
gestive of pure intellect to sweep into itself all that needs to be 
regarded in defining poetry. We must conclude, I think, that 
Leigh Hunt was right in making so much of emotion and passion 
in his definition. We are fortified in so doing by the judgments 
of later writers, notably Stedman, and by the great authority of 
the Encyclopedia Britannica. Then, too, if we take Shelley’s 
definition literally and regard it as intended to cover the whole 
subject it is deficient in not specifying language as the necessary 
vehicle of the poet’s art. This may seem hyper-criticism, but if 
we reflect a moment we shall think otherwise. Mechanical and 
electrical inventions are as truly expressions of the imagination 
as the songs of Homer, and, if Shelley’s definition were to be 
accepted literally, our Bells and Edisons and Marconis would 
have to be classed with Milton, Shakespeare and Tennyson, as 
giants in the realm of poetry. 

It is evident that imagination and passion and language 
must all go into our definition, but must the language be metrical ? 
Taking into consideration all that has been said upon the subject, 
especially by the writers whom I have mentioned, I am disposed 
to answer,—Yes. It may be proper to say of an imaginative 
passage of impassioned prose that it is poetical in essence, but 
I incline to think it should not be classed as poetry. Metrical 
form seems to be an inseparable part of the idea which is brought 
to all minds at the mention of the word, “Poetry.” Poets in all 
ages have employed it, and that fact is significant. The better 
opinion seems to me to be that language freighted with passion 
and imagination becomes rhythmical by a law of nature back of 
all invention. No one invented rhythm. The first poet uttered 
his message in rhythm because rhythmical utterance is the 
natural vehicle of the poet’s thought. It seems to me, therefore, 
that the consensus of mankind, and the very genius of language, 
in distinguishing prose from poetry,—including in the latter only 


135 


such literary efforts as have metrical form,—have laid down for 
us a law which our definition of poetry should not disregard. 

Distinguishing, then, between the indefinable spirit of poetry 
and poetry considered as a constituent of the concrete body of 
literature, and confining my definition to the latter, I would say 
that poetry is that form of literary composition in which the 
imaginative and emotional faculties, exalted by genius to the 
stage of creative power, pour forth original, noble and inspiring 
thoughts in metred forms of grace and beauty. 


COLLOQUY. 


Composed for the graduation exercises of 
his class at Williston Seminary, Easthampton, 
Mass.j in the year 1858. 

Scene I. Cato's house. 

Cato—Marcus—Messenger. 

Cato. How art thou fallen, O my country, Rome! 
Home of the Gods and Freedom’s blest abode! 

Thy sons of war that once victorious swept 
The earth and opened access to the source 
Whence all the nations learned intelligence 
And justice and philosophy—now turned 
Upon themselves, in civil feud destroy 
The only land our fathers left unconquered. 

There was a time, ere curst Ambition grasped 
The rod of power that patriot hands did wield, 

Ere avarice usurped the golden throne 
Where justice sat and held impartial sway, 

When all Rome’s counsels were harmonious. 

Against the State who raised a traitor’s hand 
Did add a traitor’s to a foeman’s doom. 

But now when Caesar walks the streets of Rome 
The people shout and toss aloft their hats 
And stare on him as on a very God, 

And when they grant a Triumph, suffer him 
To triumph more o’er Roman liberty. 

Was it for this, ye Gods, that every land 
Did send a golden current toward Rome? 

That into her deep treasury was poured 
The wealth of ages? Was it but for this— 

To minister to Caesar’s mad ambition? 

’Tis even so. O, Providence, thy ways 
Mysterious are, and all thy walks unknown! 

To thee I bow, of thee accept the fate 

Which, when ’tis given, the world will lay to Caesar. 


137 


Enter Marcus. 


Marcus. O speak not, father, thus despondingly, 
For who can hope when Cato’s hope is gone. 

My soul, now filled with apprehension, fain 
Would read the signs of cheer on Cato’s brow. 

Cato. Marcus, one day of liberty has power 
To fire my bosom with a livelier hope 
Than ages of oppression. Then, so long 
As any morning I can rise and say, 

“At least this day is Roman freedom safe,” 

So long I’ll hope. Sharest thou not my spirit? 

Marcus. Thy presence, father, never fails to rouse 
The lion of resolution in my soul. 

But why, O tell me! should our bloody wars 
Continue still to devastate the earth? 

My heart grows sick within me when I think 
How vast the ruin Rome leaves in her train 
Of conquest. 



Cato. Tis Caesar’s hand, not Rome’s, that makes the Earth 
Groan with oppression. Marcus, call to mind 
The changes that ambitious man has wrought 
By crossing o’er the Rubicon. We had 
A country fertile as the banks of Nile; 

Justice and Right within her temples dwelt; 

About her doors domestic pleasures clung; 

And, more than all, that choicest boon of heaven— 

Celestial Visitant of favored Rome— 

Freedom was ours. But no! Ambition found 
A Rubicon and Liberty was gone. 

Marcus. O, curst Ambition! how thou dost devour 
The fruit of ages! Heaven be praised that now 
A Scipio is in the field. Tis said 
A Scipio cannot be o’ercome in Africa. 

Cato. Aye, Marcus, true! mark well! “A Scipio!” 

And not the name of an illustrious sire 
Dishonored by a son. If there could be 
Such potency to win in but a name 
Caesar might send his trained legions home 
And yet defy the world. I fear me, Marcus, 

The Earth will ring anew with Caesar’s praise 
When he meets Scipio. 


138 


Marcus. Heaven grant that once at least events may prove 
Cato mistaken. 

Cato. In this it cannot be. When him I counselled 
Not to risk battle with a man like Caesar 
Skilled to perfection in the arts of war; 

But trust his sacred cause to time—the foe 
Of tyranny,—he spurned my words. 

Marcus. Did’st urge 

On Scipio a course thyself would scorn? 

If I am hasty, pardon me! but when 
Did Cato e’er shun contest with a foe? 

Cato. In times like these, when wrong is linked with power, 
Discretion more than valor aids the right. 

Would Heaven that Pompey to my warning voice 
Had given heed, or that Proud Rome had used 
More prudence in her councils! Neither now 
Would she bemoan a single traitor’s power 
Nor centre in one man her every hope; 

Nor, like a lion at bay, would Liberty 
Take her last desperate stand at Utica. 

And Marcus, too, my soul is filled with fear 
Lest Scipio, once having stemmed the tide 
That bears down Liberty and all before it, 

Should loose and cause to flow another current 
Subversive equally of Freedom’s cause. 

Marcus. How, Cato? How? Can we not safely trust 
In him on whose success all Rome depends? 

Lacks he a Roman heart as well as hand? 

Cato. Alas! ’tis true that in these stormy times 
Ambition has a louder voice than Rome. 

And now, should victory perch on Scipio’s flag, 

I would not make my residence at Rome; 

I’d fly from Scipio’s cruel tyranny. 

Marcus. Alas for Cato’s fortunes! 

Cato. Rather say 

Alas for Rome!—Alas for Roman Freedom! 

Marcus. O, how thou dost arise above thyself 
And circumstance, and think alone of Rome! 

But why didst not retain command above 
This hair-brained Scipio, and curb his follies? 


139 


Cato. I’ll ask thee in return—could I transgress 
The very laws for whose integrity 
And preservation I was waging war? 

Could I, propraetor as I was, retain 
The station due the rank of a proconsul? 

Marcus. Did not the universal army call 
For Cato? 

Cato. The voice of Rome called louder for her laws. 
Marcus. O, I can hear no more. Each word reminds 
Me how unworthy I my parentage. 

I joy indeed when Rome comes proudly forth 
Triumphant o’er her enemies; but when 
Her sky is dark nor shines a ray of hope 
Then all that’s Cato in me flies away. 

Cato. Nay, all that’s Roman, Marcus: You do wrong 
To look on Cato as the embodiment 
Of all a Romen citizen should be. 

Turn from imperfect flesh and lift your eyes 
Up to the ideal Roman citizen: 

He has no being separate from the State, 

His pleasures languish when her joys decline. 

Enjoyment, health, and even life do hinge 
Upon the joy, the health, the life of Rome. 

But now I fain would be awhile alone; 

Go to the walls, my son, and have a care 
That our defences are in good repair. 

Marcus. I go, to make myself more worthy Rome, 

And so of Cato. 

Exit Marcus. 

Cato. He’s gone. How strange the elements that make 
Up character are mingled in my son: 

To-day some combination forms a whole 
Symmetrical; tomorrow some new throw 
Of character’s dice and then his lofty zeal 
Sinks ’neath the weight of our discouragements. 

His heart is loyal, and I greatly trust 
That he will yet do valiantly for Rome. 

I’ve seen him, in a vision, nobly meet 

The foes of Rome when all her friends were fled 

Shouting—“I am the son of Cato, Ho!” 

Enter Marcus and Messenger. 


140 


Marcus. Fly! father, fly! No longer can our toils 
Avail for Rome or Liberty. From Scipio 
This messenger; I met him at the gate ; 

All’s lost! All’s lost! for on the wings of speed 
Caesar is flying from the burning south. 

Alas for Cato, Rome and Liberty! 

Cato. ( Calmly ) 

So soon, indeed? But let him tell his tale; 

Speak, messenger! 

Messenger. Three days I’ve ridden at the height of speed 
To bring intelligence of Scipio’s fall. 

Caesar has conquered; Scipio has fled, 

And, with the remnant of his slaughtered band, 

At anchor lies beyond the promontory 
Waiting to learn if it be Cato’s will 
To make a final stand at Utica. 

Cato. To what end does he ask this? 

Messenger. If it is 

He would co-operate; but otherwise 
Sufficient ships will be at Cato’s will 
To rescue him and all his friends from Caesar. 

Marcus. O, Cato, father, choose the latter course! 

There is no precept of the Gods or men 
Requires that we should rush to Death’s embrace 
When ’tis of no avail;—A pliant rush 
Is Utica before the power of Caesar. 

Cato. How knowst thou that? Cannot the Gods above 
Who watch o’er Cato’s fortunes, cannot they 
Strike down to earth the traitor’s impious hand? 

When mortals look to consequences they 
Invade the sacred province of the Gods. 

Marcus. O lay aside thy cold philosophy, 

Let the warm promptings of affection rule— 

Thy wife, thy son, thy daughter—Father, fly! 

And live to bless the hearts of those to whom 
The whole of life is Cato’s favor; Live, 

If but for them! 

Cato. Rome is my family! 

Marcus. O where thy love, thy former love, for me? 

Cato. I love thee, Marcus, more than life, but first 
Because thou art a son of Rome, and then 
Because a son of Cato. 


Marcus. Father, say— 

Cato. No more! You stir a fountain in my breast 
Whose waters must not flow. To thee I speak 
What on the morrow I shall say to all 
Thy brother Romans. Take your own free choice— 

To bend before the adverse winds of fate 
Or, staying, merit victory o’er Caesar. 

Marcus. Now Marcus is himself again. Ye Gods 
Forbid that Cato should endure for Rome 
What Marcus could not do for Rome and Cato! 

Now, Fortune, come! IT1 clasp thy outstretched hand 
Even if it holds a dagger. 

Scene II. Retired Spot on the Confines of Utica. 
Sulpicius—Verius—Marcus —three Uticans. 

Enter Sulpicius. 

Sulpicius. Now Midnight draws her mantle round, the clouds 
Cast their dark shadows o’er the abodes of men. 

There is a potency in such a night 
To make an honest man forget his scruples. 

Hah! how I joy to look ahead and trace 
The happy end of all these secret labors. 

Ere long old Cato ’ll have a worrying dream, 

And when at last he shakes the nightmare off 
He’ll find the heel of Caesar on his neck; 

And Utica’ll be spared! ha! ha! Eve pulled 
Deception’s cloak about these Uticans. 

I’ve sown the itching seeds of discontent 

Till now the universal city heaves 

With causeless murmurings; O yes! Just so! 

This love of country is a useful thing 
When ’twill subserve my purposes. The fools! 

They think they aid the cause of Utica 
When they are furthering my private ends. 

But hush! here Verius comes. Hail, Verius ! 

Enter Verius. 

Verius. Hail! in return, to thee, Sulpicius. 

Let us congratulate on our success, 

For I have found three valorous Uticans 
Ready to aid by any honest means— 


142 


And, what is better still, in such a cause 
They deem no means dishonorable. 

Sulpicius. Just so; 

When such an act as this we plot is wrong 
All honest men, like you and I, must seek 
A field of labor other than this world. 

Verius. I only wish that I may live till then. 

A fig for all the virtues all the world 

Have thought they have in all the Catos’ seen! 

As long as there are fools to gape and ape 
So long will some account him virtuous. 

Sulpicius. Aye! ’tis his stock in trade—a homespun cloak 
With which he courts the popular applause 
Or hides from public view when pride or power 
Demands some secret deed of villainy. 

But how of these accomplices—have they 
The disposition suited to our task? 

Verius. ’Tis proof enough, that they are Uticans: 

What, more than love of country, can incite 
The soul to deeds of daring. 

Sulpicius. ’Tis the best, 

The strongest sentiment that stirs the breast. 

If I regarded Cato’s cause as Rome’s 
I’d sooner perish than oppose it; his 
Is now the “Rule or ruin” policy. 

If he were Rome, and powerful as once 
’Twould be a Roman act to sack all Utica. 

But are these men discreet, I once more ask? 

Verius. My soul assures me they are all we want. 

Sly age bestows on all more subtlety 
Than Heaven confers upon the favored few. 

Sulpicius. Let Cato waste his precious hours on wild 
Abstractions; moments swell to hours, and hours 
To days when on them hang such issues. Tell me, 

Where are these men? 

Verius. They’ll soon be here; I named a later hour 
That we might first consult. See! now they come! 

I just discern them through the gloom; O what 
A night for plotting! 

Sulpicius. Verius, I confess 

That I cannot with perfect confidence 


M3 


Take untried men as parties to our schemes. 

You know that this is the important step 
Of our whole enterprise. And so I know 
That you will pardon me if I adopt 
A plan to test these Uticans. 

Verius. I do not doubt their loyalty, but still 
To your superior judgment I defer. 

’Tis right that he who has the most at stake 
Should scan most narrowly the chance of failure. 

Sulpicius . Then let us stand behind this marble pillar; 

Here they will come and wait for us. Perchance 
Their conversation will develop facts 
That will divest my mind of its last trace 
Of doubt and hesitancy. 

Verius. A fine device! But are we not discovered? 

Sulpicius. Impossible! The pillar close at hand 
Is scarce discernible; Come, this way, quick! 

Exit Sulpicius and Verius. 

Enter three Uticans. 

First Cit. They have not come; the hour’s not quite arrived. 

Second Cit. Who is this patrician, the head of this conspiracy, 
whose name Verius would not divulge? 

First Cit. I cannot tell. I only know that he’s a former 
soldier of Caesar whom arbitrary authority and not inclination 
removed from his loved commander and placed under this hated 
tyrant Cato. Regarding Caesar as the rightful sovereign of 
Rome he considers himself absolved from all allegiance to Cato, 
who is, as Verius tells me, an impudent upstart, anything but 
what the world gives him credit for in his relations to Rome, 
and, as we all know, a villain in his course towards Utica. 

First, Second and Third Cit. Good! True! Bravo! 

Third Cit. A noble sentiment! it ought to rouse all dormant 
energies and send a crimson tide to every cheek in Utica. 

First Cit. This Roman vagabond, ruined victim of hypocrisy— 

Second Cit. Never an epithet better applied! 

First Cit. Prater of Roman liberty so long as it and Cato’s 
will were synonymous— 

Second Cit. Human nature the world over! Let me be judge 
of what makes liberty and I’ll give Rome her freedom longer 


144 


than she will be willing to retain it; and that’s all the patriotism 
Cato can lay claim to. 

First Cit. Let me proceed. As I was saying, this prater of 
Roman liberty mistakes his own for proud Rome’s overthrow, 
and seeks to make of Utica a shield against the weapon of ap¬ 
proaching Caesar. 

Third Cit. In which respect he seriously errs, since we’ll make 
of Caesar a shield against the tyranny of Cato. 

First Cit. Why, this philosophical old villain, this champion 
of idle abstractions, who actually, as I’ve heard said, thinks he’s 
doing the Gods a service, he’d have us court the hottest flames 
of Caesar’s wrath by helping him prolong the airy nothing he 
calls Roman liberty. Is such an one a friend of Utica? 

First Cit. No! 

Second Cit. An enemy! 

Third Cit. A deadly enemy! And such a tale as met my ears 
to-night! ’Twould melt a heart of stone. You know old Sabrius? 

First Cit. I do. 

Second Cit. I’ve heard his name mentioned. Why, what of 
him? 

Third Cit. Enough! Enough! as you will quickly see. He 
has a son, the staff of his declining years. 

First Cit. Manlius, you mean? 

Third Cit. The same,—a noble youth. At once the old man’s 
daily support and the prop of his feeble frame when he walks 
abroad. As you perceive, he is an essential of his very being. 

Second Cit. Well, what next? 

Third Cit. Curb your indignation while I tell. I have been 
told by one in whom I place implicit confidence, that he was 
credibly informed that the Roman soldiers at the instance of 
Cato had seized the youth. 

First Cit. What! seized the youth? 

Third Cit. Yea, seized the youth. But if that were all, Cato 
would have much less to answer for. 

Second Cit. Go on! I shall not be surprised at anything. 

Third Cit. They seized the youth and despite the prayers, the 
tears and entreaties of the old man, they dragged him from his 
father’s house, and forced him to bear arms, nominally in de¬ 
fence, but really in defiance of the city. Now what do you think 
of this God-like Cato? What ought to be our course with such 
a villain ? 


145 


First Cit. Banish him to perpetual solitude! He’d little prate 
if none were near to listen to his philosophical folly. 

Second Cit. Flay him alive! that would make of him an or¬ 
dinary man, for his virtue, in my opinion, is only skin deep. 

Third Cit. Better roast him at the stake. ’Tis lofty blood that 
makes him insolent. 

First Cit. More ingenuity than unanimity. Now I surmise 
that Verius and this patrician (Why don’t they come!) will hand 
Cato over into Caesar’s hands as a ransom for the city. ’Tis not 
as Uticans but as friends to Cato that we are obnoxious to 
Caesar. 

Enter Sulpicius, with a bound. 

Sulpicius. How now! ye plotters! murderers! disperse! dis¬ 
miss your traitrous purposes; for if ye carry into effect a single 
step of this conspiracy, by all the Gods at once! ye shall hang 
higher than yonder turret. 

First Cit. Who are you, Roman, that you presume to talk of 
foul conspiracy? If, under Cato’s equitable rule, some two or 
three do meet together in the street, does Cato’s law presume 
them traitors? Your master Cato,—whom the Gods protect!— 
would punish you if he should learn your conduct toward well- 
meaning citizens. 

Second Cit. Aye! and we’d do’t ourselves but out of respect 
for him. 

Sulpicius. Of this, no more! I see that you have the requisite 
disposition and discretion. 

First and Second Cit. For what, old Roman, pray? 

Third Cit. To ’tend to your case, do you mean? Aye! that 
we have; we’ve not the slightest disposition to injure you or 
your illustrious master; but, called upon in self-defense, we could 
and would inflict a punishment upon the spot. 

Sulpicius. Perhaps the treble remedy that you have just con¬ 
cocted for the ills of Cato’s tyranny would apply to my cause. 

First Cit. Seize him! He knows too much; such men are too 
learned to live; seize him! 

Sulpicius. Hold! Verius! 

Enter Verius— rapidly. 

Verius. Hold! Uticans. This man is the patrician Sulpicius. 
I wonder not your eyes are filled with wonderment, for thereby 
hangs a tale, which I will now unfold. We early came to this 


146 


appointed place, and Sulpicius, in order to render assurance 
doubly sure, for, as you must know, his life as well as Cato’s 
power depends upon the success of this step—he, I say, hit upon 
the expedient of retiring behind yon pillar to learn more fully 
your disposition in this matter; perceiving no lack of that, he 
rushed forth upon you to try if you had the discretion to play 
the part of innocence until you had some reason to think you 
were really discerned. The rest you know. But he can speak 
for himself. 

Sulpicius. \ our remarks, Verius, have rendered words from 
me unnecessary. You, Uticans, so well assumed the character 
of injured innocence that I almost forgot the words just fallen 
from your lips. Art ready to cooperate? 

First Cit. I am. This specimen of your contrivance is to me 
the evidence that you will lead us to success in our enterprise. 

Second Cit. So I. 

Third Cit. And I. Command my services in any capacity. 

Sulpicius. The morning dawns and I must to my post. At 
twilight we will meet (Verius will tell you where) and arrange 
more definitely our plans. 

Exit all but Sulpicius. 

Sulpicius. Behold, how great a fire may owe its origin to a 
skillfully applied spark! These silly Uticans have tossed from 
mouth to mouth the trumped-up story of their wrongs, till now 
the mention of Cato’s name calls up all hideous forms of hate 
and apprehension. “Somebody said somebody said!” ’Tis 
worse than nonsense. “Feeble old man and injured boy!” The 
spirit and letter of Cato’s orders both preclude such an occur¬ 
rence. They never could have a better ruler than Cato, and as 
for Caesar, they’ll get enough of him long before he will get 
enough of them. And all this, Marcia, springs from my rejected 
suit. Caesar will not grudge to me so small a trifle as thy person 
and charms as a reward for betraying—no, that isn’t the word— 
for giving thy father up to justice and Caesar. 

But here comes Marcus. Hail, Marcus! Why so fast? 

Enter Marcus. 

Marcus. To summon the Senate. Hast not heard the news? 

Sulpicius. Not recently. Has any new affair transpired? 

Marcus. Yes, indeed. Scipio has been defeated and Caesar 
comes. The Senate is convened to decide whether to yield to fate 
or cling to Rome. Be present! 

Exit Marcus. 


Sulpicius. Hold a little! He’s gone. Curse on the luck! If 
Cato yields, my hopes will vanish like a summer cloud. O that 
he might out-Cato Cato in his obstinacy! I cannot speak against 
capitulation, for then these Uticans would see through the veil 
of my hypocrisy—no, not hypocrisy—cunning. Ha! I’ll work 
with all my power with the members till the Senate convenes and 
then be sick and unable to speak. Nothing but the greatest ex¬ 
ertion will induce the Senators to stand their ground, for the 
larger portion are inclined to favor Caesar. But Marcia is a 
prize—so, here goes! 

Scene III. Cato’s house. 

Cato—Sabrius and Messenger. 

Cato. You say this son of yours is the support 
Of your declining years? 

Sabrius. This many years, 

Illustrious Cato, I have leaned upon 

His shoulders for support. His hands, his head, 

His heart are indispensable to me, 

So that ’tis not so much a son as ’tis 
A portion of myself I seem to’ve lost. 

Cato. Such a proceeding, if it has occurred, 

Directly violates all my commands. 

Sabrius. Then, noble Cato, at thy feet I beg 
That he may be restored to me. My prayers— 

Cato. Rise! Utican, arise! They do implore 
Who ask for mercy, not their own just dues. 

Whether in Rome or here, the applicant 

Who comes to Cato with a just request 

Needs not to beg, but may command compliance. 

Know then, thy son, retained by accident 
Or by a violation of my laws, 

Shall be restored before another morn. 

Sabrius. The Gods defend thee, noble man! Now I 
Believe what oft I’ve heard, that Cato loves 
The cause of Justice even more than Rome. 

Cato. Justice and Rome, inseparable, are one. 

Exit Sabrius. 


148 


Enter Messenger. 


Messenger. Stand I in the illustrious Cato’s presence? 

Cato. I am Cato. 

Mess. I come, 

A messenger from Caesar, to proclaim 
To all who now place puny pebbles of 
Resistance in his course, that he desires 
To spare all Roman blood, and more than all 
The rest, the noble Cato’s. 

Cato. And why Cato’s 

Especially? Is he aught more or less 
Than any other Roman? 

Mess. Life will be given to all who lay down arms. 

Cato. Go, tell your lord when he’s prepared to make 
The same conditions for a peace with Rome 
Cato will hear his proposition. If 
Upon his trait’rous soul has beamed a ray 
Of Mercy’s sunshine, let him stay the woes 
He has in store for Rome. 

Mess. You talk like one 

Who has the power to dictate terms of Peace. 

Cato. And Caesar like to one who has the right. 

Mess. And who a better right than he who can 
Sustain his cause with iron arguments ? 

Let Cato not forget that Fortune’s tide 
No longer bears him proudly on its crest. 

Cato. Let Caesar not expect the same success 
In fighting ’gainst, as for his native land. 

Bid him beware how he confront her Gods 
Lest, crushed by bolts of wrath divine, he learn 
How much the glory of his former deeds 
Is due to Heaven’s partiality to Rome. 

Mess. ’Tis strange that such defiant words should come 
From lips subdued. 

Cato. Subdued ? we’re not subdued! 

Strong in our cause we fear no human power. 

The impious hand that’s raised to strike us down 
Must parry off the thunderbolts of heaven. 

This Utica is but a sentinel’s post 


149 


Where we contest a paltry inch of ground. 

Because ’tis Heaven’s high pleasure to defend 
Who in a noble cause defend themselves, 

Our cause, behind the bulwarks of the Gods, 

Is safe; so tell your lord. 

Mess. And must I bear the sad intelligence 
That Cato spurns his proffered boon of peace? 

Cato. ’Tis liberty, not peace, that Rome demands. 

War’s hottest blast is but an angel’s breath 
Compared with tyranny and chains. 

Mess. Bold words! 

Does Cato realize their fatal import? 

As well rush headlong on the blade of Caesar 
Unarmed, as cling to such infatuation. 

Let Cato yield, and all the clemency 
That’s due his lofty name and character 
Is his to claim. 

Cato. Your embassy is lost. 

Think not to move by fear when Reason’s voice— 

My only Mentor—you’ve invoked in vain. 

’Tis for the conquered to turn suppliants; 

They sue for pardon who have injury done. 

Go, tell your lord that when he’ll lay aside 
The weapons of rebellion, when erase 
The spots of gore his tyranny has rained 
Upon the tablets of my country’s fame, 

Cato will guarantee forgiveness. But, 

Till then, defiance! Let him do his worst! 

Mess. With tears Great Caesar then will take the course 
Your madness renders unavoidable. 

Cato. Let him not waste on me the tears he ought 
To shed for Rome. 

Scene IV. Portals of the Senate House. 
Marcus —Lucius— Sulpicius. 

Enter Marcus and Lucius. 

Lucius. Hail, noble Marcus! these are troublous times. 
Marcus. Aye, Caesar seems to rule the Fates themselves. 
Lucius. He does, in truth, and have we not great cause 
To fear he always will? I must confess 


150 


That, though I have the fullest confidence 
In Cato’s skill, I entertain no hope 
Of saving Utica. 

Marcus. I have my fears. 

With what prodigious strides this Caesar comes! 

The mountains shrink to hillocks in his path; 

The widest rivers dwindle to a span. 

Lucius. Too true! ’Tis of no use. The very Gods 
Seem so to frustrate all of Cato’s plans 
They almost make me doubt his principles. 

If I could be assured of Caesar’s clemency 
Perhaps my heart would be inclined to yield. 

Enter Sulpicius. 

Marcus. Then hast not heard the latest news? This morn 
A messenger from Caesar’s camp is come 
With summons to surrender; he assures 
All who submit of his protection. 

Sulpicius. What’s his protection? Marcus, ’tis the same 
That the whelped tigress smacks her lips to give 
The jungle-tangled traveler. 

Marcus. Aha, Sulpicius! Just the sentiment 
We should expect from you. Your zeal for Rome, 

Like Cato’s love, knows no abatement; Come! 

We talk of Cato’s fortunes and the tide 
That now bids fair to sweep us all before it, 

When Caesar thunders at the gates of Utica. 

Lucius. He promises protection, did you say? 

If I were Cato he’d not thunder long. 

To bow to Fate is not to bow to Caesar. 

Sulpicius. To bow to him is not to yield to Fate. 

Let Cato’s spirit animate our band 

And Caesar might as well attempt to hurl 

Rome from her hills, as compass our defeat. 

Lucius. Hast then seen Cato? How did he receive 
The intelligence? 

Sulpicius. Hast seen the oak, rock-rooted, breast the blast? 
Hast seen a wave-surrounded cliff repel 
The rushing ocean ? Then thou hast seen Cato. 

The blast that makes him bend must have the power 
To make him break. O, Marcus, did I hear 
Fear’s timorous accents tremble on thy lips? 


Marcus. ’Twas Lucius. You mistake; but I confess 
I can but share his gloomy sentiments. 

Lucius. Tis not to Caesar, but the Gods, I yield; 

The Gods who by their actions signify 

That we are holding out against High Heaven. 

What is that virtue that defies the Gods 
And curses Caesar for defying Rome? 

Marcus. Gently, friend Lucius; he must rashly give 
To all the world the lie who dares to say 
The Gods befriend not Cato. 

Lucius. They’ve a way 

Peculiar, then, of manifesting love. 

Sulpicius. Heaven’s ways, I grant, are most mysterious, 

But in the end the tide will turn to Cato. 

The Gods will ne’er desert his cause till they’re 
Averse to all in man that’s like themselves. 

Lucius. His virtues surely merit better use 
Than Caesar will apply them to. 

Sulpicius. And what 

Has such an one to do with Cato’s virtues ? 

Hereafter, as before, they’ll doubly damn 
By contrast his base acts, and that is all; 

Ay, all, to all eternity! 

Marcus. Would that I 

Could view our present plight as favorably! 

To me we seem upon an isle at sea; 

The rising tide already laves our feet 

And even higher the liquid death is rolled 

Till all that’s left us is the barren choice 

To cast ourselves upon the surging waves 

Of Caesar’s passion, or supinely stand 

While Death around us wraps her winding sheet 

Of waters. 

Sulpicius. True! But, Marcus, if you knew 
That day on day for ages past the tide 
Had just submerged the isle and after that 
Ebbing, as oft had given it to the sun, 

Would you then fear, and hesitate to stay? 

Marcus. Where’s the resemblance, pray you? 

Lucius. That’s the point! 


152 


Sulpicius. That Island stands for Justice,—Cato’s cause. 
Whether with waves to sudden fury lashed, 

As when the conquerer comes, or heavy with 
The customed flow of black oppression’s tide, 

The darksome waters menace with their flow, 

On some shore-cliff an unseen hand has placed 
A mark the waters know and dare not cross. 

An influence from Heaven shields all beneath. 

Let Caesar learn a lesson. O ye Gods! 

Were I not from exposure sick, to-day 
I’d roar for Rome like a Numidian lioness 
Robbed of her whelps. I’d wring my very soul 
To outdo Cato in my zeal for liberty. 

O why should sickness come! ’gone, selfish thought! 

Rome languishes. 

Marcus. Is dying; 

Lucius. Nay, is dead! 

Sulpicius. O, say not so! Long by her couch we’ve watched; 
The crisis nears. O now, when skill and care 
May lead to joyful convalescence ,—now 
Shall we give o’er? Ye heavens forbid! 

Marcus. Begone, 

Ye brood of fears! The thoughts that in my soul 
Have all the morning fought, now gain the ascendant. 

Sulpicius. O, Marcus, how your words do thrill my soul! 
Here, take my hand! Now are you Cato’s son. 

O, may I not this morning hear from you 
A speech whose power shall make old Atlas tremble? 

You’re Cato’s son; the noble name you bear 
Breeds expectation and unlocks all ears 
To your sage counsels. O, today, if you 
Would blow a loud triumphant blast for war 
’Twould hush all adverse sentiments and fill 
The universal senate with a purpose 
To nobly do or die. 

Marcus. I’ll do my best. 

Sulpicius. All will be done, for heaven will do the rest. 
Lucius. Say rather, madly do and madly die; 

As the wild maniac who grasps the blade 
Eager to drink his blood, and steers it home. 

Marcus, you’re too susceptible. 


153 


Sulpicius. You err in judging Caesar’s character. 

Lucius. I do not under-estimate his power. 

Sulpicius. If to his clemency you look, remember 
Caesar respects true valor in a foe. 

Of all the reptiles that befoul the earth 

The coward soul fares worst at Caesar’s hands. 

Then let us fight like fiends, and if we fail 
The slain of both besieger and besieged 
Will be our highest recommend to favor. 

Lucius. You make some show of reason. 

Sulpicius. ’Tis reason’s essence. What does Caesar care 
For a few thousand slaughtered, more or less! 

He who without a contest yields to him 
Injures his stock in trade. These victories, 

What are they but the glittering spurious coin 
Which he palms off for empire? 

Lucius. I’m convinced. 

But yonder is a group of senators; 

Imbued they must be with our sentiments. 

Marcus. Let’s talk with them. 

Sulpicius. Caesar, thy doom is sealed! 

Exit All. 

Scene V. Senate. 

Cato—Marcus— Lucius —Senators—Messengers 

Cato. Fathers, this morning you are called to choose 
Whether to yield to Fate or cling to Rome. 

At dawn a messenger from Caesar came 
And offered life to all who lay down arms. 

Consider well the point;—howe’er decide 
I shall not blame. If inclination prompts 
The safer course I shall impute the change 
To the changed circumstances of the times. 

If ’gainst his threatening aspect you bear up 
And face fresh dangers in the cause of Rome, 

Then, till the final issues of her fate, 

I’ll your companion and your leader be. 

Fathers, from greater falls than even this 
With glory crowned our country has arisen. 

Look now abroad; Spain lately has rebelled 


154 


And over to young Pompey gone, and Rome 
Not yet accustomed to the servile yoke 
Is all prepared to spurn it from her neck 
And rise on any prospect of a change. 

If we succeed, Rome’s gratitude is ours, 

And if we fail and fall, we but exchange 
War’s fickle fortunes for a glorious death. 

Fathers, deliberate! first entreating Heaven 
To prosper all your efforts in a way 
Worthy the courage you’ve already shown. 

Marcus. Thy presence, Cato, more than hope itself 
Has fired my spirit with new warmth and zeal. 

With leaden steps I ’proached the Senate House; 

But, Fathers, now with those same steps of lead 
I’d trample under foot a proposition 
To purchase peace at any price but blood. 

Proud, guilty tyrant!—Spilled at his command 
How oft have Freedom’s altars reeked with gore! 

The cry of orphans and the widow’s tear 
Leap back from contact with his stony heart 
Like iceberg-baffled sunbeams. Let him turn 
And bend his steps to where the rolling sun 
In daily course beams on Pharsalia’s fields; 

Let him collect from dust and birds of prey 
The flesh of Rome’s patricians murdered there. 

When the same hand that strewed shall gather up 
The countless bones that bleach upon her sands, 

Place joint to joint, fashion each frame anew, 

Call back to his old tenement each spirit 
And thus restore the flower of Rome’s soldiers, 
Then, Fathers, then my voice will be for peace! 

Till then I spurn the proffered olive branch; 

Till then I hear amid its leaves the hiss 
Of venomed vipers. Fathers, declare for war! 

Lucius. I do not rise to waste the morn in words. 
Each interval of time that does not tell 
Upon the object of our gathering is 
A diamond cast at Caesar’s gory feet. 

Whether we welcome him with outstretched arms 
Or eager swords, in garb of peace or war, 

We must be prompt. We know the situation,— 




155 


Let us, forthwith, make our opinions known. 

My vote’s for war! 

Senators. And mine! And mine! And mine! 

Cato. Fathers, your action fills my soul with joy, 

Your Roman spirit marks your cause as Rome’s; 

’Twere easier to hurl Atlas from its base 
Than keep the bonds of slavery on men 
Determined to be free. O, Fathers, think! 

O, what if we to-day have spoke the word 
Shall rouse from torpor Freedom’s prostrate form; 

Have fanned to life the precious flame whose heat 
Shall melt the shackles from her mangled limbs. 

Who is a Roman and would not prefer 
To chance the smallest probability 
Of such result, and on it stake his life, 

Rather than take a diadem from Caesar? 

Enter Messenger. 

Mess. Fathers, a band of Roman cavalry, 

Flying from Caesar, tarry near the gate. 

Cato. So soon, O Senators, has Providence 
Confirmed for us the wisdom of our choice. 

When mortals take the steps that render them 
Deserving of success, the immortal Gods 
Are ever ready to confer it. Straight 
Let my swift steed be brought. These aged feet 
That paced the desert at the army’s front 
And never knew fatigue or felt a stirrup 
Are now too slow to do thy bidding, Liberty. 

Rubrius, you I call to take the chair; 

And you, Sulpicius, inform the messengers 
From Scipio and Caesar of our choice; 

And Lucius, come with me. 

Sulpicius. Command my humble services, I know 
No will but that of Cato and of Rome. 

Cato. The Gods preside o’er your deliberations, 

O Senators, and may your action shed 
Still greater lustre on the Roman name! 

Exit Cato, Lucius and Sulpicius. 

Enter Second Messenger. 

156 


Mess. Bid Cato speed, the horsemen ride away. 

Rubrius. He’s gone already. 

Mess. Heaven spur his steed! 

For otherwise he’ll find the cavalry gone. 

First Sen. Aye, ten to one! I thought so from the first; 
These sudden flashes of prosperity 
Are disappointment’s couriers. 

Second Sen. ’Twould be 

In perfect harmony with Cato’s luck; 

’Tis strange how ill success devours his plans. 

Third Sen. ’Tis stranger yet that men, and Romans too, 

Can still be duped by his delusive whims. 

Fourth Sen. Now who are we, and who this dreadful man 
Whose right to rule, we’re told, ’tis base to own. 

Are we not puny babes in strength, and he 
The mighty Caesar, into whose strong hands 
The fates have placed the sceptre of the world’s 
Dominion? How! Shall we in Utica 
Contend for liberty against a man 
Before whom Cato and great Pompey quailed 
In Italy? Ah, wretches that we are, 

Let us return to sanity and Caesar! 

Let us send deputies to appease his wrath 
And sue for mercy ere it is too late! 

O what a precious name this Liberty 
To scare and cheat the simple into slaves! 

Marcus. My voice is still— 

Fourth Sen. Down with the prater! Down!— 

First Sen. And so is mine. Let us no longer hear 
This precious nonsense. 

Fifth Sen. ■ O, permit a word! 

Third Sen. Then speak ye to these barren walls! Perchance 
Their hearts of stone may give responsive echoes. 

Rouse! Senators, Rouse! Romans, let us hence! 

Stir up commotion! Scatter discontent! 

Exit all, in confusion. 


157 


Scene VI. Without the City. 

Sulpicius—Cato— Lucius —Rubrius. 

Senators—Officers. 

Cato. Stay! Roman, Stay! Your country and her senators— 
’Tis they, not Cato, beg your services. 

First Off. It cannot be. No! No! We’re flying from, 

Not into Caesar’s power. Delay breeds danger. 

Cato. Our walls are all impregnable, and stores 
We have sufficient for a Trojan siege. 

Each day that Caesar spends before our walls— 

First Off. Hinder me not! We must away; Adieu! 

Cato. Stay! Romans, Stay! ’tis for Rome’s Senators 
I plead,—her noble bloods,—Aye, Rome herself 
And all those loyal sons who now pent up 
In Utica have just decreed with voice 
Unanimous to strike once more for Rome. 

Second Off. And perish in the effort, as do all 
Who strive to conquer Caesar! Come, Away! 

Cato. O’er such a purpose formed in such a cause 
Caesar has never triumphed. 

Lucius. Never will! 

Remember, Romans, he who says these words 
Is Cato, famed for justice through the earth. 

To-day when his great heart did almost burst 
With fear lest our weak senate should adopt 
A timorous policy, he did not seek 
To paint defeat like victory; instead 
He coldly laid the facts before our minds 
And gave unbiased choice. And so to you. 

First Off. Then let us go. Off with your hand! I go! 

Why these persuasions, Cato ? Why must we 
Be bothered with these importunities? 

Do we not have the choice to go or stay? 

Cato. You do, you do! My mouth shall silent be, 

Although my eyes, so long unused to tears, 

May weep a protest. 

Second Off. O, Cato! 

Lucius. ’Tis Rome that weeps. Her tears are blood. O, ye 
Who by a single act can dry the fount 
Speak, speak the word! 


158 


First Off. We will consult our troops; 

Cato, if you would kill these Uticans, 

These fireside traitors, we might hearken to 
Your proposition. 

Officers move off. 

Cato. Has it come to this— 

That Rome and liberty must be upheld 
By wanton butchery of the innocent?— 

May Heaven forbid! 

Lucius. Cato, as you consult 

Hark to your brothers of Pharsalia!—They 
With mangled faces cry aloud from earth 
To you for vengeance. 

Exit Officers. 

Cato. ’Tis of no avail. 

Lucius. How so, are they not patriots? 

Cato. They have 

No real patriotism. ’Twas not regard 
For Liberty nor Glory’s silver tongued 
Applause that led them on with Scipio. 

The spoils of war, the wealth of pillaged towns, 

These had a charm to— 

Lucius. What! Who comes there? See! horsemen! What a 
dust! 

They leave the winds behind them as they ride. 

Cato. Come from the city, too! Can it be true? 

’Tis Rubrius! Now, Lucius, steel your breast 
For new misfortunes. 

Lucius. And Sulpicius, too! 

They were unanimous. Can it be so? 

Cato. They pause,—now they dismount. This way they come. 
Ho! Rubrius, Here! What news ? 

Enter Rubrius, Sulpicius and three Senators. 
Rubrius. The council’s broken up; disorder reigns. 

As soon as Cato’s presence ceased to awe 
A panic seized their timid souls as if 
A meteor had fallen in their midst. 

Wildly they rave throughout the streets and call 
On Heaven and Caesar for defence from Cato. 

Sixth Sen. All’s lost! 


159 


Seventh Sen. We’re ruined! 

Eighth Sen. We’re undone forever! 

Cato. Alas, for Rome! 

Sulpicius. Hear that, ye Senators! 

Cato. Bear up, bear up, ye noble senators! 

There may be yet encouragement to hope. 

How comes this, Rubrius ? When we left this morn 
The Senate was a unit. 

Rubrius. So ’tis now, 

But love of Rome and hope of victory 
Has changed to universal fear and hate. 

A word was said of Cato’s ill success, 

’Twas spark to tinder; quicker yet than thought 
The traitors blazed into rebellion. 

Sixth Sen. Come! let us fly like Antony from Pharsalia. 
Seventh Sen. Aye, let us fly! 

Cato. Fathers, do you forget 

That ships lie in our harbor for escape 
When other refuge fails? Bear up! Bear up! 

Eighth Sen. Tell me, will noble Cato fly with us? 

Cato. Long since I have resolved never to leave 
These walls till I go forth victorious. 

Lucius. Not so! The sentiment is godlike, but— 

Cato. No more! The officers approach. Well, Romans, 
What’s your decision? 

First Off. This: We cannot suffer 

Ourselves to be shut up in a walled town; 

For every foe without, we’d find a spy 
And murderer in every tenement. 

Cato. Then I have but one favor more to ask, 

O grant it, Romans, and I die content; 

I’ll back to Utica and single-handed 
Will meet the foe. 

Sulpicius. Not single-handed, Cato, while I live. 

First Off. Speed quick! A scout has just come in, and brings 
Intelligence that Caesar’s close at hand. 

Second Off. We must away! Go with us, noble Cato! 

We’ll be your body guard and hold you safe. 

Cato. My purpose is unchangeable; think not 
Of me, but take with you these Senators; 

Tarry awhile till they can pass the gates, 

And with their compeers come and join your band. 


160 


Second Off. It cannot be. Already Caesar’s hounds, 
Unleashed, are on our track. 

Lucius. Stay! Romans, Stay! 

First Off. Let all who now are ready join our ranks. 

Who are these trading Uticans and Romans 
That you should fret your soul about their welfare? 

Are any ready?—Hasten, then! Adieu! 

Exit Officers. 

Cato . Be still! my Soul,—Be still! when thou art perfect 
Condemn the deeds of others! 

Sulpicius. Cowards! Traitors! Villains! Knaves! O, how I 
loathe such selfishness! They have steeds which make longer 
an hour to them than is a day to Caesar’s infantry. I’ll after 
them and this good steel shall make them bite the dust! 

Cato. They’re Roman citizens. 

Sulpicius. I stand rebuked, 

Go! Romans, with my execrations, Go! 

Scene VII. Retired Spot. 

Sulpicius—Verius— three Uticans. 

Sulpicius. O, can I consummate this damning deed? 

O, can I take the last, the crowning step ? 

Reveal to him whose judgment all the world 
Regards an index of the Gods’ opinion. 

The animus of all my deeds ? O can— 

Why quakes this frame, O, why this burning brow ? 

Back to your kennel, conscience! slink away 
As you’ve been trained to do when with my plans 
You’ve interfered before! O, for a fight! 

Some rash external conflict that would make 
Earth, air and ocean quake, and draw my thoughts 
From the fierce contest that goes on within! 

Strength has no terrors to intimidate; 

Courage but mirrors back my own brave breast. 

But there’s a something in this Cato’s make 
Enlists the air about him for a guard, 

And when his image stalks upon my soul 
It frowns upon my thoughts and sends confusion 
Throughout my deep digested plans. To-day 


161 


He spurned an offer to escape as though 
It were a viper—not a priceless boon. 

There is a voice within me seems to say 
He’d yield his life full cheerfully to save 
The meanest son of Rome in Utica. 

O, can I, can I all my steps retrace? 

(Pauses a little, then stamps .) 

Never! Begone! Again I freely breathe. 

Now arm thyself, my soul, ’gainst his return! 

By thee, enduring Atlas, whose proud peaks 
Shall bear me witness in the courts of heaven, 

By thee I swear, this night shall Cato be 
My prisoner, and tomorrow’s sun shall see him 
In Caesar’s camp! Now, Marcia, thou art mine! 

Heaven blest thee with a curse when He enstamped 
Thee beautiful. 

Enter Verius and Uticans. 

Hail! comrades in the cause of Utica, 

Art ready? 

Verius. We are ready to obey 

Our country’s call to duty. Tell me, comrades, 

To what conclusion did the Senate come? 

First Utican. O, if you could but gladden all our hearts 
With news that Cato is about to yield, 

And thus preserve us guiltless from a deed 
Which naught but freedom’s consecrating power 
Could render else than damnable! 

Sulpicius. O Uticans! My friends! It tears my heart 
To tell you that he madly chose to stand, 

And, with a coolness worthy of a fiend, 

Devote us all to undistinguished ruin. 

Second Utican. His own destruction, then, be on himself! 
Third Utican. His course but justifies and makes his own 
The arm that’s lifted now to succor Utica. 

Sulpicius. And what say you? (To first Utican ) 

First Utican. The direful need that calls 

For such a deed as this must justify it. 

Sulpicius. Then listen, all, while I unfold my plot 
Which, if successful, seals the tyrant’s doom— 

Or, failing, makes to-morrow’s sun arise 


162 


For the last time on Utica. Cato has 
Convened a little company to-night 
To talk of Immortality and Justice, 

And on the pinions of Philosophy 
To flutter o’er the very verge of doom. 

I will remain till all the rest are gone, 

Then, at the signal Verius has made known, 

Do you rush like an avalanche within 

And bear us down and bind us both with cords. 

I’ll make a most prodigious show of valor, 

But, I will gauge my desperate defence 
So as to ’scape the charge of cowardice 
And yet not make a single hair of yours 
The worser for’t. I’ll be of those w T ho fight 
With desperation worthy better fate. 

Cato will fall a prey. Then have us forth; 

Unbind my hands, and I’ll direct the rest. 

How like you that? 

Three Uticans. ’Tis admirable! Good! 

Verius. But Caesar, where is he? So close at hand? 
Sulpicius. The morning sun and he will come together. 
Verius. But what our course if we should meet defeat 
Sulpicius. It cannot be,—and yet my cunning hand 
Has made provision even for repulse; 

If such should be, Cato, on my request, 

Will give you all to me for punishment. 

’Tis needless to express the rest. All’s right; 

Now let us join once more our hands and pledge 
Eternal silence and fidelity. 

Exit All. 

Scene VIII. Cato’s house. 

Cato—Marcus— Lucius —Sulpicius— 
Verius—Uticans—Messengers. 

Lucius. And so you think that he alone is free 
Who casts his character in Virtue’s mould? 

Cato. As oft I’ve said, how can a man be free 
Who lives in abject servitude to Passion? 

But now, my friends, the eve has passed away; 


Freedom has poured her last libation forth 
And now awaits the conquerer; let him come! 

Our comrades have embarked, and soon the breeze,— 

The outward breeze,—will waft them to the sea 
Where Pompey’s shade strikes terror to Rome’s foes. 

On you, companions of my desert paths, 

On you be Cato’s blessing! Soon we part 
To meet no more as Romans. When we meet 
’Twill be as slaves to Caesar’s clemency 
Or dwellers in the homes of the Immortals. 

Eternal home, for one I welcome thee! 

Life has no charms when all the earth is Caesar’s. 

Marcus. Father, your words o’erwhelm my soul with grief, 
And yet leave room for joy, for you concede 
That further toil for Rome will not avail. 

Now, surely, you will not refuse to fly. 

See! Through yon casement where the moonbeams fall 
Along the sea, their sails already set, 

Our ships delay departure. Come! O come! 

Cato. And what is life to me? There’s not a spot 
On earth where life would be endurable 
Which is not cursed by Caesar. Hear, my son! 

Marcus, the time will come when Rome once more 
Will shake her shackles off—once more be free. 

Till then put up thy sword nor mingle in 
The strife of traitors for supremacy. 

Be thou content to labor in obscurity, 

To emulate the virtues of thy house 

And till the soil which they have tilled before. 

When I am gone,—yea, when my tired soul, 

Weary of this degenerate world, is free,— 

Go to the place where the great censor walked 
And studied Nature’s book. There meditate 
His precepts. Keep in mind, not my poor deeds, 

But rather that far goal of excellence 
Which to attain has been my lifelong toil. 

There train thy sons to Virtue; watch the state, 

And, when the tyrant falls, ’twill be no crime 
To be a Cato. 

Marcus. O, let my father go with me, and then 
Our farm would be a paradise indeed 
Shut from the world of Caesar; come, my father! 


164 



Lucius. Caesar is merciful; he’s too much regard 
For the great world’s applause to injure Cato. 

To-day I’ve written an appeal for those 
Who could not leave in yon departing ships. 

For you I’ll joy to be a suppliant 
And even cast myself at Caesar’s feet. 

Cato. Thanks, Lucius, thanks! But waste no words on me, 
I’m not within his reach. He’ll not pursue 
Beyond Death’s gate: I will not owe my life 
To one who, granting it, subverts the laws. 

But, O my countrymen—Rome’s truest friends 
Whose only crime is loving liberty! 

Lucius, do thou exhaust thine utmost skill 
And couch a message in such melting terms 
As would draw tears from flint or adamant. 

Tell Caesar Cato is the chief offender; 

That he’s the very soul of all resistance. 

(Aside) 

How shall he harm the body when the soul 
Has gone above? 

Enter Messenger. 

Mess. Haste, Marcus, to the southern gate! The winds 
Of strife are brewing. 

Cato. Marcus, wherefore tarry? 

Rome calls; Farewell! Lucius, once more adieu! 

And you, Sulpicius, my friend, farewell! 

Exit Marcus. 

Brave Romans both, alike you share my love 
And each alike receive my choicest blessings. 

Shun the corruption of the state! Know this, 

That what on earth is worthy of pursuit 
Is what it has in common with the Gods. 

Soon we shall meet where Caesar cannot come 
To mar the bliss of our eternal home 
Whose walls unending ages shall endure, 

Its glories permanent, its joys secure. 

Lucius. Then, Cato, if thou’rt bent on death, adieu! 

And yet I doubt not Caesar would show mercy. 


Exit Lucius. 


Sulpicius. Why rob us, Cato, of thy presence? All 
Thy sentiments are so congenial 
I know not how to tear myself away. 

Cato. If you are Cato’s friend, now let him rest. 
Sulpicius. I will, I will! But, Cato, tell thy friend 
To what didst make allusion when you spake 
Of Death’s approach, and immortality. 

Enter Verius and Uticans. 

Cato. Caesar shall never boast he conquered Cato— 

Hold, Uticans! Whence this intrusion ? 

Drop your drawn daggers ! Back! 

Sulpicius. How now, incarnate fiends! Advance a step, 
Though ye be two to one and we unarmed, 

You’ll rue your murderous purposes! Off cords! 

I’ll wear them not! I’m down! I yield to force. 

On me, ye villains, centre all your wrath! 

O, that I had a thousand lives for Cato! 

Cato. Sulpicius is fallen; draw your swords ! 

This hand that stayed the foes of Utica 
Shall indicate the heart whose suppliant prayers 
Preserved your city from destruction. 

Strike here! Strike home! On my broad bosom strike! 

But let the one that’s injured give the blow, 

If such there be among you; here’s a messenger 
Sent by the Powers above to set me free. 

Enter Lucius. 

Lucius. What means this uproar? Cato’s set about 
Like a spent lion with hounds. Ha! Ha! they cower! 

Ho, Rubrius and Demetrius! 

Enter Rubrius and Demetrius. 

Sulpicius. They stand transfixed! Thy virtue is a barrier 
The villains cannot penetrate. O Cato, 

Give me these men for punishment! They shall 
Have tortures that shall make the little time 
Till Caesar come a whole eternity 
Of suffering; and the first sight that greets 
The conqueror’s eyes shall be their trunkless heads 
With gore cemented to the outer wall. 


Cato. Your zeal for Rome, as usual, carries you 
Beyond the bounds of reason. Now if they 
Were Romans they should take, not cruelty 
But punishment provided by Rome’s laws 
With Heaven’s approval; but they’re Uticans, 

And doubtless tools in some directing hand 
Less brave perhaps but far more villainous. 

Go, Uticans! I do not care to know 
Your instigator. 

Enter Marcus in haste. 

Marcus. Treason is abroad! 

I’ve quelled a mutiny at the gate. Is here 
Another crater of the bursting fires ? 

And have you made the same discovery? 

Sulpicius,—thou art the man! 

Cato and Lucius. Who? What? 

Marcus. A household traitor, Cato, Caesar’s spy 
Who helps his master while he shouts for Rome. 

Lucius. Impossible! That fiery zeal for Rome 
Was never kindled in a traitor’s breast. 

Rubrius. What say you? Cato’s warmest friend a traitor 
Sooner will Caesar be Rome’s warmest friend. 

Demetrius. Unbind these cords! ’Tis a disgrace to have 
A Roman soldier in our presence bound. 

Cato. Hold, not so fast! Ye Gods forbid that we 
Should yet withdraw our confidence; but when 
Marcus prefers a charge it must be heard. 

Speak, Marcus! 

Marcus. When I was called away I went forthwith 
To the southern gate, where this inhuman fiend 
Had tampered with the porter and had tried— 

And thought he had succeeded— 

Rubrius. Well, in what? 

Marcus. In making him party to a scheme to give 
Cato in chains to Caesar’s troops, and thus 
Complete the fall of Utica. Thank Heaven 
The Gods have interposed once more for Cato! 

Rubrius. Cato, give me this man for punishment! 

Cato. Let Justice have her course and vindicate 
The majesty of Roman Law. But is 
That justice which condemns before it hears 
Both sides? Come, speak, Sulpicius! Art thou guilty? 


Sulpicius. No truer friend of Rome and Cato lives! 
Marcus. Be silent, traitor! Hold thy lying tongue! 
Thy plans are known. Tell me, is Marcia thine? 

Cato, his very looks confess his guilt; 

I know whereof I speak. 

Sulpicius. Cato, have mercy! 

Cato. Mercy to traitors, treason is to Rome. 

You Rubrius, take this man, and on his head 
Let Justice execute the penalty. 

Scene IX. Cato's house. 

Cato—Marcus— Lucius —Butas. 

Cato. What hast thou now, Existence, to allure 
My weary soul. The tree of Treason, whose 
Foul boughs distil the baneful dews of death, 

Is rooted in the goodly soil of Rome. 

Friendship has changed to hate, and zeal for Rome 
Is zeal for Caesar with another name. 

Yes, sainted Socrates, thy words are true! 

Death is the portal to a purer life; 

’Tis the connecting link where Death and Birth,— 

Our little life’s extremities,—unite 
To form the circle of eternity. 

This book all radiant with thy words divine 
Tells me of immortality; this sword— 

What, Ho! My servants !—Marcus, who has thus 
Intruded on my privacy?—Ho! Servant, 

Bring me my sword! 

(Reads a minute with no response.) 

Marcus, bring thou my sword! 

Enter Marcus without sword. 
Where is the steel ? Is even my household treach’rous ? 

Marcus. O, father, let me first— 

Cato. First bring my sword! 

Would you have Caesar find me weaponless? 

Seek you to bind my hands behind my back 
And make me powerless against Rome’s foes ? 


Marcus. O, give me but assurance that the foes 
Of Rome alone shall feel its edge, and I— 

Cato. My sword! Rash youth, my sword! Wouldst thou 
provoke— 

Marcus. I’d sooner die than disobey thy will. 

But hear me, father! If my prayers and tears 
Shall not dissuade you from your dread intent 
It then shall be returned. 

Cato. Nay, bring it now! 

As yet I’ve formed no purpose; if I should 
I’d have at hand the means to execute it. 

Marcus, dry up your tears! Cato will not 
Perform an act at variance with his character. 

Whatever I may do, be thou assured 
The Gods can look upon it with approval. 

Bring me my sword!—then let me gratify 
For once my late o’er-wearied limbs with sleep. 

1Exit Marcus and enter boy with sword while 

Cato reads. 

Now I am master of myself. They call 
Thee instrument of death, but ’tis thy task 
To ope the portals of that blest abode 
Which this discourses of. Now let me take 
A moment’s rest,—but stay, has all been done? 

Butas! 

Enter Butas. 

Go, Butas, to the fleet and see 
If all are safe embarked, and bring me word. 

Exit Butas. 

If he is quick he will return in time 

To send the joyful news above. O, if 

On earth there is an offering meet for Heaven 

It is the pure libation Freedom drains 

When her proud souls choose death instead of chains. 

Exit Cato. 

Enter Marcus and Lucius. 

Lucius. Hail, Marcus ! Does he still refuse to yield ? 
Marcus. If that were all I would be satisfied, 

But, Lucius, I fear he tires of life. 

His soul, engrafted on the weal of Rome, 

Seems bent on not surviving her decline. 


169 


Lucius. Where is he now ? 

Marcus. He sleeps; I just now peered 

Within his room to see if all were well. 

A gentle sleep has stolen on him and 
Some peaceful dream lights up his countenance 
With heavenly radiance. No thought of Rome 
Or Caesar now disturbs his soul. But, hark! 

Lucius. His sleep is not so peaceful as you think. 

He dreams of Rome; her grievous wrongs call forth 
Involuntary groans. Ha! Tis no dream! 

Run! Marcus, run! And see if aught has happened. 

Exit Marcus. 

Immortal Gods, who make the just your care, 

Avert all danger from his honored head! 

Re-enter Marcus. 

Marcus. O, horrid sight! O Lucius! All our fears 
Are more than realized. Cato has fall’n 
Upon his sword! 

Lucius. O, speak no more! At least 

He has escaped from Caesar. Weep thou, Rome! 

Thy noblest son has fallen; Justice, weep! 

Thy tears have never flowed for one more just. 

And Freedom, mourn awhile around his couch 
Till thou, bereaved of this, thy noblest son, 

Return’st to Heaven. 


Finis. 


THE FISHER 


The winter’s sun his course has run, 

New warmth is in his ray; 

The days combine, or rain or shine, 

To steal the nights away; 

The forest dense, its last defense, 

Has failed the fated snow, 

And the fisher dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 

He drops a tear upon the bier 
That bears a year away; 

Then, with a shout, his feelings flout 
All thought of Time’s decay; 

Why should he bear a thought of care, 

Or apprehension know 

Who fondly dreams of crystal streams 

Near where the cowslips grow? 

His eager heart ill takes the smart 
Of laggard Time’s delays; 

But Time, the thief, pretending grief, 

Brings back his stolen days 

And bids them wait and move in state 

And on, reluctant, go, 

While the fisher dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 

He loves the stream; its rippled gleam 
Beguiled him when a boy; 

He hopes in turn his boys will learn 
To love its dear decoy. 

Though down life’s steep, he still doth keep 
His fisher heart aglow, 

And fondly dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


While yet the year is chill and drear 
And ample firesides blaze, 

His fancy frames amid the flames 
The hopes of coming days; 

The brook that gropes down southern slopes 
His earliest cast shall know; 

And thus he dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


With forethought wise his rod he tries 
And tests its willowy spring; 

His faithful creel and shining reel 
Delightsome memories bring. 

Yon flashing pool, one morning cool, 

Its tribute did bestow; 

And the fisher dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


With scarce a bend the joints extend, 

How beautiful its poise! 

The ferrules shine, the silken line 
Unreels with clicking noise. 

“Take care! Take care! Yon rock beware! 
Ha, ha! The bright spots show!” 

And the fisher dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


At length the May, at last the day, 

At last the morn is come; 

Away the task! away the desk! 

Away the city’s hum! 

Off and abroad! where skies of God 
To fishers’ hearts bestow 
Their earliest dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


172 


The day’s delight brings on the night, 

He hears the whippoorwill; 

A somber shade steals o’er the glade 
And all is hushed and still. 

The waning Day, a pilgrim gray, 

Departs in sunset’s glow, 

And the fisher dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


Down aisles of years the fisher hears 
Dear voices, silent grown; 

Through mists of time, in youthful prime 
A form—how like his own!— 

Again he sees where morning’s breeze 
Ripples the pool below; 

The while he dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


Where yonder mill stands ever still 
And tattered looks, and lone, 

Their footsteps wend at evening’s end— 
His brother’s and his own,— 

With wearied reels and laden creels, 

Ah, many years ago! 

Again he dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


Their paths were one where rivers run, 
One welfare was their rule; 

One joy was wrought whichever caught 
The monarch of the pool; 

His brother waits beyond the gates; 

The fisher dreams, below, 

A few more dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


173 


Sweet Powers above, who fishers love 
And guide their gentle feet, 

For aye attend my Fisher Friend 
Whose step the ripples greet; 

His paths prepare in pastures fair 
Wherein still waters flow, 

Who with me dreams of crystal streams 
Near where the cowslips grow. 


174 


HENRY WARD BEECHER 


An Incident of the Last Night of His Life. 
The sermon o’er, the blessing said, 

In the great church the preacher stayed. 

The choir, the sacred aisles among, 
Discoursed an aftermath of song. 

Soft numbers like refreshing dews 
Descended over vacant pews 
To where his tired brow felt the spell 
That down from choir and organ fell. 

But look! within, on timid feet, 

Two urchins enter from the street; 

With curious glances void of smiles 
They loiter vip the sacred aisles. 

The preacher sees their torn attire 
And, quick forgetting song and choir, 

His arms their shrinking forms enclasp, 
And, when they fear his tender grasp, 

His lips bestow with loving glee 
A kiss’s benedicite. 

O preacher of the love divine! 

Taught by that simple act of thine 
Mine eye, with sight unsealed, beholds 
The Heart that every heart enfolds; 

Thy love compels to doubt no more 
His love who all my sorrows bore; 

And, treading where those urchins trod, 

I touch the human heart of God. 


175 


SPRING 


There is a spring, the poets sing, 

Of balm and all that sort of thing; 

A spring that comes, a dancing sprite, 
And scatters flow’rets left and right; 
Beneath whose feet are dewy meads, 
Before whose face the storm recedes, 
While, following in her fancied train, 
Imagined mildness comes to reign. 

There is a spring, by poets known, 

In some far off unpeopled zone 
Where zephyrs, soft as whispered tales, 
Sweet petals stir in scented vales; 

And mossy meadows over-fill 
With wafted notes of bird and rill, 

While skies empurpled softly shed 
Benignant moods on—no one's head. 

There is a spring whose pictured charms 
The poet hold in captive arms; 

Her fancies, light as air, enfold 
His fettered heart with chains of gold; 
He shivers in the icy blast, 

Yet dreams of sunshine, shadow cast; 
And when his bowed head takes the sleet 
He fancies violets at his feet! 

O would some poet’s hand might guide 
My fortunes where his fancies glide; 

I'd set my sails and shape my helm 
To seek that non-rheumatic realm; 

I'd wear this winter suit no more; 

I’d cease to shout, “Oh shut that door!” 
I'd countermand that order, too, 

For coal—to last the springtime through. 


176 


A PRAYER 


Lord, conform my will to Thine! 

Not my own, not mine, not mine! 
This my prayer, my journey through, 
What I would not, grace to do. 

All my pilgrimage along 

Let Thy statutes be my song; 

Curb to Thine my wayward will, 

Bid my answering lips be still! 

Let me know my Saviour’s joy, 

Thee to serve though foes destroy. 
On mankind bestow some cheer 
E’en because I journeyed here. 


177 



















































